Healer
by sarcasmandcynicism
Summary: It's been two years since Rhynn left Thedas and, at this point, she has given up hope of ever returning. Given up hope in general, really. But that's the thing about hitting rock bottom - there's only one direction you can go from there. Sequel to Traveler.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: I'm spoiling you all with such fast updates. Haha! But I've been dying to write this chapter for a long time. I'm really excited to share the sequel with everyone. That said, I should warn you that this chapter is pretty dark. Rhynn isn't in a good place, so I'm including a **trigger warning for suicidal thoughts.** It's very brief, but if that's an issue for you, you can skip the third section.

And now, without further ado, here is the first chapter of Healer.

* * *

Chapter 1: Hope

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

\- _The Road Not Taken_ by Robert Frost

* * *

I sit on the ledge outside my window, legs dangling, watching the sky cars whizz by. The city appears especially dingy tonight. It always looks like the shithole it is, but the atmosphere this evening is particularly despondent.

 _Abandon hope, all ye who enter here._

I chuckle humorlessly into my half-full bottle of cheap liquor and take a sip.

 ** _You certainly have._**

With a weary sigh, I let my head fall back against the wall and close my eyes.

 _Two years today._

 ** _Ah, so that's why we're brooding on a window ledge and drinking an entire bottle of alcohol._**

 _Damn right._

That's how long it's been since I left Thedas. Two _very long_ years. I couldn't just let such an anniversary pass without acknowledgment. I lift my bottle in salute and shout a hearty, "Fuck you!" to the uncaring city. It gives me a good twenty seconds of petty satisfaction.

A single knock at the door ruins it.

"Fuck off, Anzo!" I growl in the native tongue.

 _One of these days, I'm going to finally end up on a planet with translators. What a fine day that will be._

"Answer the door, Rhynn," the alien demands, sounding unamused. Then again, he's rarely ever anything but.

With a groan, I haul myself back inside. Four steps later, I'm at the door. I live in a damned closet.

"What do you want?" I ask tonelessly after yanking the half-broken door open.

"A joy, as ever," Anzo sneers. I glare and he huffs. "Shira forbid you learn some manners."

"Manners? On Esrin?" I ask, eyebrow raised.

"One can hope."

 _Ah, hope. Someone should warn him about that._

"Was there a point to this or did you just come here to sweet talk me?" I smirk, canting a hip.

Anzo blinks his four eyes and somehow manages to convey disappointment with the gesture. "Boss man wants his rent. You're two cycles late, _shik'r'n_."

I lean against the door frame and give him a fake flirtatious look. "Maybe there's another way I can pay…" I purr. It's a routine we have.

Anzo sighs. "You need to take this seriously. He's been unusually lenient with you. This isn't the first time you've been late with your payments and there's talk of eviction."

"I can handle it, Anzo. Speaking of which…" Anzo likes to hide money in my apartment, perhaps hoping I'll mistake it as my own. I stuff the currency into the pocket of his shirt and he makes a frustrated noise. "I don't need charity."

"Clearly you do," he argues, taking the bills out and trying to force them upon me. I bat his hand away.

"I'll work a few days in the mines," I shrug.

"Rhynn…" he sighs, looking worried. "I wish you wouldn't. It's too dangerous."

 _What would he say if I told him how mild the mines are in comparison to the rest of my life?_

I shrug again. "It's money."

Anzo's expression changes to one of anger. "What happened to you that made you stop giving a damn?" he spits.

I shut the door in his face, locking it for good measure.

 _What, indeed?_

I turn and flop down on the ratty couch. I take a large swig of my drink to dislodge the lump in my throat.

 _Hope, Anzo. Blame it on hope._

I used to have it. When I left Earth, I had hope that I'd be able to go back. When all of my friends died because of me, it was dimmed but still present. When I was little more than a lab rat, I placed my hope in my curse, begging to be whisked away to a new planet. And when Flemeth asked if I'd learned to control my power… oh God did I have hope.

Well look where it got me. On a shitty asteroid floating through space. In a shitty apartment that's little more than a broom closet. Alone with my own _shitty_ company.

 ** _At least there's a window._**

"I'll drink to that." I take another swallow.

Even after I left Thedas, I still had hope. Each time the buzzing returned, I wished with all my might to return. But a person can only take so much disappointment.

So I gave up.

* * *

Two weeks later, I'm evicted from my closet. Anzo offers to let me stay with him for a bit, but I don't need his damned charity. I've gotten on just fine by myself before.

It's cold out on the street, though. Shivering, I tug my threadbare jacket tighter around me. What I wouldn't give for my pack right about now. A way to start a fire would be quite welcome. I left everything in Thedas when I world-hopped. My pack, my journal, most of my weapons, my violin.

 _Solas._

My chest gives a painful squeeze. "Damn it…" I know better than to think about these things.

At least I was able to purchase a new gun. This one is much nicer than my pistol. An energy weapon, with plenty of spare ammo packs. That's one of the few good things about Esrin: no weapon restrictions. Despite the fact that I'm an alien amongst aliens, acquiring a gun was as easy as walking into a store and purchasing it. No questions asked.

Lost in my thoughts, the blow to the back of my head catches me completely off guard.

I stumble and fall into the wall.

"What the _fuck_?" I mutter in English, my vision blurring. I turn to face my attacker, only to receive a punch to the face. I both hear and feel my nose break. Blood immediately begins pouring out, trickling over my lips and dripping from my chin.

I lift my arms to guard my face and try to fight back, but my vision has only gotten blurrier and the pain is making my ears ring.

The next blow catches me in the stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs and causing me to hunch over. My attacker uses the opportunity to hit the back of my head again, sending me sprawling on the ground. I try to pull myself up, but a kick to the ribs stops that.

And then another kick while I'm down. Something snaps.

 _There goes a rib…_

A clawed hand grabs my dirty, messy braid and yanks my head back.

"You still owe Yorvic money. Don't forget. You have a week. Next time, you pay with your life."

My hair is released and my head smacks into the ground. And then it starts raining because _of course it does._

Bloody and in pain, I drag myself over to the wall and prop myself up. I dig into one of my pockets and pull out a quarter-full vial of healing potion. My stinginess has kept it this long, but now I gulp down the remainder.

I end up having to reset my own nose, screeching through my teeth the whole time. There's not much to do for the rib, but I find some fabric in a dumpster – with suspicious stains – and wrap it tightly around my torso.

* * *

I spend the next week hiding from Yorvic's goons and dumpster diving for food. I would hightail it out of his district, but I can't move very far.

I finish my five-star meal of spoiled stew and curl up in an alcove. I'm still hungry, I'm freezing, the voice is nattering on about what an idiot I am, and everything _hurts._ It hurts to breathe, move, stay still, _blink!_

I don't want to _be_ anymore.

 ** _There's a solution to that, you know._**

I think about the gun at my hip. Would I even die? Or would I just walk around with a big hole in my head and a few loose screws?

 ** _A few more._**

My fingers twitch.

 _So this is what rock bottom feels like._

I thought I'd hit it before, but boy was I wrong. I was only skimming it.

 ** _You should try it. What have you got to lose?_**

"Your winning personality," I mutter, but my hand moves to rest on the gun.

And freezes there.

There's a buzz at the base of my skull. _The_ buzz. I start laughing. It hurts like a bitch. Tears leak from my swollen eyes and it's not so much laughing anymore.

 _There's no end for me. The buzz won't let me die. What was I thinking? There's no escape._

 ** _You're delirious._**

That strikes me as hilarious and my laughter resumes, even as my rib screams in agony.

* * *

A few days later, when the buzz becomes all-consuming, I'm nearly unconscious and thinking of home. Not of the apartment I lived in for college; that was never home. No, my thoughts are of a small house in Oregon. It's faded blue with white trim. There's a small garden in back and a swing on the front porch. Dad sits there, sipping some oddly named craft beer and enjoying the evening. Mycah and I are both home on break, sprawled on the couch and playing video games together like we did when we were kids.

There's an ache in my chest… a terrible desire for that moment in time, so far out of my grasp now. I think of my old bed, lumpy but familiar. There are still a few stuffed animals in a chair in the corner of the room. Would it be so strange if I curled up with one? Pulled the covers up to my neck and felt warm again?

I feel a tug as I'm pulled from this godforsaken asteroid.

 _I just want to go home…_

The world fades as I pass into the next.

 _At least I won't have to pay Yorvic now,_ I think with grim humor.

The sun shines bright in the next world. A little _too_ bright, after half a year spent on Esrin. I squeeze my eyes shut and groan softly. The smell of freshly cut grass tingles in my nose and I clench my fist in the cool blades. Clearly, I've found myself on another populated world.

 _Too bad… I was hoping for some peace and quiet._

 ** _Well, quiet at least._**

Slowly, I force my gritty eyes open. They're still swollen and sore. I blink a few times, bringing my surroundings into focus.

I'm lying on someone's lawn. That's clear enough. Also awkward. Hopefully no one saw me appear… hard to explain that one away. There's a street in front of me with cars parked along the side. Past that, a row of houses of different shapes, sizes, and colors. Odd, but I've been to worlds that looked like Earth before.

I sit up slowly, grunting in pain and clutching my side. I turn my head to see what's behind me and –

 _Oh my God…_

It's a little blue house with white trim and a swing on the front porch. The paint's been touched up and there are flowers lining the walkway now, but I know that house.

 _My house._

Breath speeding up, I push to my knees and just stare.

 _This can't be real._

I must be passed out in that dirty alleyway back on Esrin. Or maybe I am in a new world, but I'm so delirious from exposure that I've begun hallucinating. Either of those is about a hundred times more likely than me being back on Earth. That's a dream I gave up on a long time ago.

"Are you all right, dear?" A sweet voice asks from my left. I turn abruptly, startled, and the woman gasps.

 _Wait, I know her!_

It's Olivia Jennings, our next door neighbor. She looks a lot older than I remember. I can't really process any of this, so I just gape at her like a fish.

"Lord! What happened to you? Do you need me to call the police?" she asks, fingers fluttering at the base of her throat.

That snaps me out of it a bit. "No, no," I rush. "That won't be necessary."

"If you're sure…" she replies hesitantly, eyeing me warily. Then her eyes narrow in contemplation. "You look awfully familiar… Do I know you?"

"Not anymore." I glance back at the house and stand slowly, one arm wrapped around my middle.

Mrs. Jennings gasps a second time. "Rhynnara…?"

 _Shit._

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye but say nothing.

"Oh my goodness! Is it really you?" She starts to cry and I cringe. "You're alive!" She surges forward and wraps me tightly in her arms. I can't help the loud, pained sound that wrenches from between my lips. She's squeezing my damned broken rib _oh my God woman let go!_

She does, quite quickly. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she frets. "We… we need to get you to a hospital! We need to contact your family!"

"No!" I nearly shout. "No hospitals!"

"Don't be silly, dear. You're badly hurt! What happened to you? Where have you _been?_ "

"Please, Mrs. Jennings…" I sigh. "I just want to see my family." I turn back toward the blue house.

"They… they don't live there anymore," she says quietly, a hint of sorrow in her voice. Before I can question it, though, she's grabbing my arm and tugging me toward her house. "Come on. I'll drive you to the hospital and they can contact your brother. I'm afraid I don't have his number. Oh, this will be quite the shock for the poor boy…" She keeps prattling on as she drags me to her car. I'm in too much pain to put up a fight. "Let me just grab my purse." Then she darts into her house, leaving me alone by the car.

I contemplate making a break for it, but where would I go? If my family moved, then someone else probably lives in the house now. I doubt they'd appreciate me crashing on their couch. Also, the promise of medical care is enticing. I worry, though. There was probably an investigation after I disappeared. The hospital will have to notify the cops. There will be questions and the truth isn't going to cut it.

Mrs. Jennings only takes a minute, but by the time she returns and lets us into the car, I've already come up with three possible cover stories. When she inevitably asks where I've been once more, I tell her that I don't know.

 _Amnesia is a good cover, right?_

 ** _Yeah. Sure. I'm sure they won't see right through it._**

The drive is a short one, thankfully. But then I have to go into the E.R., which isn't so great. I get some strange looks, but I can't really blame them. I look like I just came from a cosplay convention gone horribly wrong.

It takes a bit, but I'm taken into triage. My broken rib gives me some priority and they take me to a room soon enough. Before that, however, Mrs. Jennings makes sure to tell me that she's notified the hospital that I'm a missing person.

 _Great. Thanks, Mrs. J._

The next while is a bit of a blur as nurses dart in and out of the room, taking blood samples, checking my heartrate and breathing, etcetera. They give me medicine to dull the pain, which is amazing. A doctor assesses me and sends through a few machines to survey the extent of the damage.

When they ask me to put on a hospital gown, I insist that my belongings stay by my side. They seem a bit confused by that, but acquiesce. They haven't noticed the weapons yet; I was able to hide them in my coat. Then they set me up in a bed and hook me up to an I.V. Apparently, I'm dehydrated – I could've told them that. By the time things settle down, I'm feeling significantly better, but also a bit trapped.

The door clicks open.

"Hello, Miss Torpin," a woman greets, walking into the room. "My name is Doctor Ana Hendricks." Her graying hair is pulled back into a tight bun, making her look a bit severe, but her voice is kind.

"Hi," I reply, sipping a cup of water one of the nurses gave me.

"I'm going to get straight to the point," she says.

"I appreciate that."

She smiles a little. "You have one broken rib and another fractured one. As far as we can tell, the broken rib did not cause any further injury to your internal organs, but we'd like to keep you for observation. You also have a broken nose, which appears to have been reset somewhat." There's a question in there, but I don't bother answering so she continues. "We would reset it properly, but it has already started to heal. You also have several contusions and a mild concussion. And, as I'm sure you're aware, you possess a host of older injuries."

I just nod. I already knew all of that.

The woman pulls a chair over to the bed and seats herself. "I'm not just a doctor here, Miss Torpin. I'm also one of the hospital's many counselors. You seem to take well to the straightforward approach, so I'll tell you this: there are a few cops waiting outside to ask you questions. I was able to convince them to hold off for a bit, but only on the condition that you talk to me instead."

I snort. "Of course."

Doctor Hendricks gives me another knowing smile. "Can you tell me where you've been, Rhynnara?" she asks softly.

"It's just Rhynn," I correct. "And… I don't know."

Her thin eyebrows raise slightly. "You don't know?"

"No…" I reply hesitantly and pretend to fall into thought. "I… remember being at a concert with my family, but then… nothing."

"You don't remember what happened?"

I frown down at my hands. "I'm… no. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Rhynn," she soothes. "You remember everything else, though? Your neighbor said she found you in front of your old home."

"Yeah," I nod, looking up at her. "I vaguely remember walking… and then I was looking at the house." I let the disbelief and shock I still feel show on my face. Let her make of it what she will.

Doctor Hendricks writes something down, then stands and puts the chair back. "I think that's enough for now. I'll stall the officers for a while longer." She gives me a wink and leaves the room and I almost feel bad for lying to her. She seems like a kind woman.

As soon as the door latches behind her, my eyes dart to the bundle on the bedside table. I think about just making a run for it. I'm starting to feel a bit panicky. They took blood, and it's only a matter of time before they find something strange, right? I've been to too many places not to have picked something up. I refuse to be locked in a lab again, poked and prodded.

I'm reaching for my things when the door opens again.

I nearly don't recognize the man who walks in. He freezes, staring at me with wide eyes.

 _Mycah_.

My whole being aches to run across the room, glom onto him, and never let go. But I can't seem to make my limbs work.

There are tears welling in his brilliant blue eyes. His handsome – _bearded!_ – face crumples and then he's jogging across the room and dragging me into his arms. I twist my hands into his flannel shirt and bury my face in the collar, ignoring the twinge of protest from my broken nose.

"Oh my God, it really is you," he whispers brokenly, running his hand over my still-dirty hair as if questioning his senses.

I let out a strangled sob. " _Mycah…_ "

"I'm here, Rhynnie," he soothes, holding me tighter. "I've got you. _Oh God…_ "

It's a long time before either of us is willing to break the hug. He pulls back and my hands go to his face.

"Look at you, little brother!" I tease, a giant grin splitting my face. "You finally grew that beard you always wanted!"

Mycah gives a watery laugh and lays his hands over mine.

"You look like dad now!" I chuckle. "Speaking of which, where is he?"

Mycah's smile drops and he looks away. My blood turns to ice.

 _No, Mycah. Don't do this to me. Tell me he's on his way… that he's right behind you._

"Rhynn, I…" He takes a deep breath, shoulders drooping. Then he looks me in the eyes, expression full of sorrow. "Dad passed away five years ago."

* * *

Notes: So I got the feeling a lot of you are worried about how I'm going to end this. Let me settle your fears. I _hate_ sad endings. There's nothing worse than devoting yourself to reading a story only to come to the end and have your heart broken. That's happened to me before, a few times, and each time left me feeling awful. I don't ever want to make my readers feel that way. I will absolutely enjoy grinding your feelings into the dust along the way. But I want you to leave this story feeling content, at the very least. So fear not, my friends. This story will have a happy ending.

Also, just a reminder, I'm still accepting OC submissions. Here are the types of characters I need:

-Tevinter slaves (elf or human)

-Tevinter citizens in general  
\- ancient elves  
\- modern elves (city or dalish)  
\- Thedosian humans  
\- Earth humans (specifically a friend or two from Rhynn's past; this would probably be a brief appearance)  
\- qunari

If you'd like to submit a character, you can do so through comments on here or you can head on over to my tumblr page ( .com) and send it to me in whatever form you prefer (message, ask, submission, etc.). I'll even accept anonymous submissions. Also, if you're not sure what sort of information I want, I'd be happy to give you some ideas. Thanks again to everyone who has submitted a character! I look forward to adding them to the story!


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: You are all amazing! I've gotten so many OC submissions! You can read my little freak-out about it here: sarcasm-and-cynicism dot tumblr dot com /post/143382019130/holy-crap-you-guys

(remove spaces and replace 'dot' with '.')

There isn't much happening in this chapter. Just some necessary dialogue. Hopefully not too boring.

To 0w0Arr: Thank you for the OC! I definitely think there's a place for Ghilan/Nyx in the story!

* * *

Chapter 2: Home again, home again

I watch a shaft of moonlight creep slowly across the sterile floor. Sleep is impossible, so I let my mind wander.

 _Besides, how can I possibly rest when –_

My heart gives a painful squeeze that radiates down through my arms. I distract myself by running my fingers through Mycah's course hair and watching him sleep. I smile, just a little, when he snuffles and buries his face in the blankets.

 _That can't be comfortable._

He's sitting in one of those crappy hospital chairs, upper half resting on my bed. He's going to have a horrible kink in his neck when he wakes up, but I couldn't get him to go home. He's nearly as stubborn as I am.

I sigh quietly, tiredly, and let my hand just rest on his head. It's grounding. I still can't quite believe this is real. _Any_ of it. After everything… I'm actually back home.

I kind of checked out on Mycah for a while after… well. But Mycah understood; of course he did. He just held my hand and sat with me until the cops came in to take my statement. That's the only time he's left my side since. I'm… more grateful for it than he'll ever know. Then again, I have a feeling he's about as capable of leaving as I am.

Maybe I should be crying right now. It would make sense, certainly. But I think part of me knew… This was too good to be true. There had to be a catch; there always is.

 ** _You don't deserve this._**

Maybe that's true, too. After everything I've seen and done, it feels weird to be home. Like trying to squeeze myself back into a pair of jeans I haven't worn in years. I don't fit anymore. The room is too clean, the people are too ordinary, this bed is too soft, and Mycah is too good. I've forgotten how to be _that_ Rhynn. The one I am now lies to cops and has two guns, a dagger, and three throwing knives wrapped up in a tattered, blood-stained jacket by her bed.

I realize now my dreams of home were a desire for normalcy. I wanted to come back to what I knew, wanted everything to be the same. That's the thing about time, though. It keeps marching on, whether we want it to or not. And, eventually, it makes fools of us all. Tired, scarred, dirty, unworthy fools.

I take a deep, shuddering breath and go back to watching the moonlight.

* * *

I'm released from the hospital the next day. Mycah left for about two hours and came back with some of my old clothes. They're too big on me; it makes him frown. He also brings a bag for my things.

Both Mycah and a nurse spend ten minutes trying to coax me into a wheelchair, but fuck that shit. I glower at both of them, stand all by myself because I'm a big girl, grab my bag, and start walking.

"Rhynn!" Mycah huffs in exasperation and trots after me. When he catches up, he places a steadying hand under my elbow, as if a stiff breeze might knock me over.

"I'm fine, Myc," I grumble, walking faster. I feel a little bad when I hear him sigh.

"Will you at least let me carry your stuff?"

"No."

"You're just as stubborn as ever!" he grouses.

I pause, turning to look at him. He does the same. And then we start laughing. It's not very boisterous, but it still sends a twinge through my side. I wince.

"Don't make me laugh!" I say, but keep doing so anyway. Mycah smiles and leads us to his car.

"I… I have some people I'm excited for you to meet," he says, starting up the engine. I raise an eyebrow in question, but he doesn't say anything further.

 _Okay, then…_

The drive isn't long, but by the time we arrive, I'm weirdly nervous. It doesn't help that conversation got a little awkward and stunted during the ride.

Mycah pulls into the driveway of a medium-sized, well-kept house. I climb out of the car slowly, both in trepidation and because of my injuries.

 _Who the hell are these people he wants me to meet?_

The front door opens and a woman steps out. She's gorgeous; dark skin, wild curls, and a bright smile. A little girl, probably around six, follows closely behind her. She has the same coloring, same hair, but her _eyes_ …

 _Oh God, those are Mycah's eyes._

It suddenly clicks. I'm looking at his _family._ I gasp quietly and glance over at Mycah to find him smiling at me.

"Rhynn, I'd like you to meet my wife, Talisse, and our daughter, Christina." His smile is nearly blinding now. "Lovely wife, beautiful daughter… this is my sister." He places a hand on my shoulder and gently guides me forward. I'm grateful; I think my legs have stopped working.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you," Talisse says quietly, honestly, tears shining in her eyes. And _glad to finally meet you_ like I haven't been missing for nearly _fourteen years_! She lays a soft hand on one of my arms where it grips my things tightly to my chest. For a second, I wonder why she's shaking. Then I realize it's me.

 _Oh._

"Christina, say hello to your aunt, sweetie," Talisse encourages gently, nudging the girl out from behind her leg.

 _Aunt? Oh my God! Who decided I should be an_ aunt _?! I should_ not _be allowed around this girl! Who the_ fuck _thought this was a good idea? Abort! ABORT! Abandon ship –_

"You have a lot of scars!" the little girl blurts, then claps a hand over her mouth. Her wide eyes dart up to her mother. I stifle the urge to laugh.

 _Thank God for the bluntness of children._

"Christina May!" Talisse chastises, then turns back to me. "I am so sor – "

"No, no," I stop her. "It's fine." She looks worried still. "Really," I emphasize and give a small smile.

This seems to calm her. "Please, come inside," she urges, waving me in.

I walk past and into the house. I take stock of the place, making note of each possible exit. Then, upon realizing what I'm doing, stop.

 _This is Mycah's home, not a warzone._

 ** _Might as well be._**

I stand awkwardly in the entryway, not sure what to do with myself. Christina skips past me and into another room, curls bouncing.

"Have a seat," Talisse offers. "Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Just water," I reply, still looking around.

Sensing my hesitation, Mycah puts a hand on my back and leads me over to the couch. We sit, side by side, and he keeps his hand where it is. It's nice.

"You're married," I whisper, astonished. "You have a _kid_!"

"Yeah," he chuckles. "Never thought I'd settle down, but…" He shrugs.

"They're beautiful," I tell him.

He smiles at me. "Yeah, they are, aren't they?"

I have to look away. My fingers start to pick at a hole in my jacket. "I've missed so much…"

The hand on my back starts moving in soothing circles. "But you're here now. That's the important thing."

We fall silent as Talisse walks back in and hands me a glass of water. I thank her quietly and sip at it.

Then Mycah reaches for the bag on my lap. "Here, let me take your things – "

Without thinking, I grab his wrist tightly. "No."

Mycah tenses up and tries to pull free. "S-sorry…"

 _What the fuck are you doing?!_

I let go like his skin is burning me.

"No. God… _I'm_ sorry," I rush, shaking my head and threading the offending hand into my greasy hair. I give it a sharp tug to vent my distress. "Just… just please don't touch my things… I'm so sorry…" I start curling in on myself. Mycah takes my water, sets it aside, and pulls me into his arms.

"I won't, Rhynn," he whispers. "I promise."

Talisse quietly excuses herself.

"The doctors said you don't remember what happened to you," Mycah states, clearly hesitant. I take it for the question it is.

 _Should I tell him…?_

 ** _He's not going to believe you. He'll have you thrown in the loony bin._**

 _Mycah wouldn't do that!_

 ** _You've been gone for a long time…_**

 _He's my_ brother _! I know him!_

 ** _He'll think he's doing you a favor._**

 _Shut the fuck up! I owe him the truth!_

The voice falls silent, but I can feel it lingering in the back of my mind, angry and worried.

"Rhynn?" Mycah prods gently. I must have been silent for some time.

I sigh into his shoulder. "I lied."

I can feel him tense at the revelation. "About what?"

"I remember it all." I let it show in my voice – the anguish, the fear, the pride, the longing.

I feel his larger hand wrap around my mangled right one. His thumb ghosts over the stumps where my last two fingers should be.

"What happened to you, Rhynn? You _vanished!_ Literally! Right in front of our eyes… No one believed us, but we _knew._ You damn well weren't kidnapped and you didn't run away. So what the _fuck_ happened?" By the end of the rant, his voice has taken on that quiet, steely tone Dad used to get when he was well and truly pissed off.

I pull away, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. "You're not going to believe me…"

His eyes are just as hard as his tone, but I know it's directed at the situation more than at me. "Try me," he challenges, chin lifting a fraction.

I look away and take a deep breath.

 _Here goes…_

"I haven't even been on this planet since that day," I confess, voice quiet and toneless.

"What?" He sounds just as disbelieving as I expected. "Maybe I should take you back to the hospital…"

I laugh humorlessly. "Told you."

Mycah scoffs. "Come on, Rhynn! You realize how crazy that sounds."

I sigh and set my bag on the coffee table. Methodically, I begin pulling items out and laying them on the wooden surface. The first is a leather strap with lots of slots; only three of them are filled. Next is my old pistol, scratched up but obviously cared for. After that, I carefully set out the newer gun. It's clearly not of this world. Last is a handful of currency from different planets.

"Take a look," I offer with a sweep of my hand.

Eyes narrowed, Mycah sits forward on the couch and examines the items I've set out. His fingers drift over each thing, not touching but clearly wanting to.

I slide a throwing knife out and turn it over in my hands, running my thumb over the carvings. The strange metal shimmers like blue flames. "These were a gift from a woman named Til on my first planet. She taught me how to hunt, scavenge, and defend myself. I would be dead if it weren't for her – if it weren't for the entire village, actually. They took me in when they found me wandering the forest, half starved."

I slide the knife back into its place and pick up my new gun. "Look at this, Myc. Does it look manmade to you? It shoots energy, not bullets. I can show you later, if that would help." I set it back down and point at the money. "And does that look like anything you've seen?"

Mycah doesn't say anything, so I hold my right hand in front of his face. "You noticed the missing fingers already. They were bitten off by some weird furry creature when I was scavenging for food. Stuck my hand in the wrong bush, apparently." I point to my face. "These slashes? A six-legged, scaly fucker with too many eyes took a swipe at me. I'm lucky I didn't lose my eye, let alone my life." I pull down the collar of my shirt and tilt my head so he can see the rough patch on the side of my neck. "Acid burn from a spitting plant." I roll up my sleeve and hold out my arm. "This is a fucking _bug bite!_ I'm telling you, Mycah, Bug World can burn in hell. It had _millipedes_ the size of a _car_!"

Mycah still hasn't said anything. He's just sort of staring at me with his mouth partly open.

"Still not convinced?" I switch between different alien tongues. "How about now?" Another. "Or now?" Back to English. "I've learned quite a few languages in my time away. Shall I keep going?"

Mycah lets out a soft _whoosh_ of breath. "No, I… no. Just… give me a second." He puts his hands on either side of his head and keeps breathing. I wait patiently. Eventually, he drops his arms and looks at me. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"

"No shit, little bro," I roll my eyes. That, out of everything, seems to convince him the most.

"Holy shit."

"I know."

"Holy _shit!_ "

"I _know_."

"So, that night… you just got dragged to another world…?" His eyes are wide and sad.

"Yeah… I had no clue what was happening, same as you and…" I trail off, averting my gaze to the carpet.

"I'm… oh, God," Mycah's voice breaks. "I'm so sorry, Rhynn."

I look back to see him pressing a fist to his mouth, eyes wet. I lay my hand on his forearm and give it a squeeze.

"It's okay, Myc. Not your fault."

"But I… I was so _angry_! And confused! I watched you disappear and couldn't do a damn thing about it. Some other people saw it, too, but the cops just brushed that aside! Said you must've slipped off when no one was looking, or got grabbed. But Dad and I _knew._ We fucking _knew_!" Mycah slams his fist onto the table. "He spent the rest of his life trying to find out what happened to you, you know. The inside of the house ended up looking like something straight out of the X-Files. Every instance ever recorded of a disappearance like yours was plastered to the wall. It… it became his obsession. When I was still in the house, he'd go to work as usual, then stay up all night researching. Then I left to go to college. The first time I came back for break, I found out he'd stopped going in. I didn't go back to college until after he… after he died. He needed me to stay and take care of him. He wouldn't even eat unless I made him sit down and do it! One day, he just… gave up. The first time I saw him smile since you disappeared was when Chrissie was born. But then he… he accidentally called her Rhynn once and he didn't smile again. And then… and then he was gone..."

I stay silent, letting Mycah vent. My hand drops from his arm to twist into the fabric of my pants. I don't realize I'm rocking back and forth until Mycah grips my shoulder to halt my movement.

"My fault, my fault…" I whisper, eyes tightly shut to fend off the tears.

"Rhynn, no!" Mycah cries, gripping my face in both hands and forcing me to look at him. "None of it is your fault, do you hear me?" A tear slips free, despite my best efforts, and he wipes it away gently. "That's my whole point. I was so angry at you for so long, for leaving us here. And you were off God-knows-where, fighting for your life and probably scared out of your mind and _I'm so sorry_! I'm your brother; I should've been able to stop it, to keep you safe! And I failed…"

"Hey," I chastise softly, curling my hands around his wrists. "You don't get to tell me it's not my fault, then turn around and take the blame."

His face scrunches. "I… I know. I just… You used to be so carefree – happy – but I look in your eyes now and I can see how tired you are. You look like you've seen the worst the universe has to offer and I'd do anything to take that away." Mycah's blue eyes bore into me. He looks so damn _earnest._

A painful hiccup is the only warning I get before I fall apart completely. With a great, heaving sob, I break. Mycah pulls me into his arms once more as I dissolve into tears. Every regret, every mistake… all the pain and suffering. My fears and doubts, my loves and losses. They all rise to the surface now, finally set free from the cage I've locked them in for so very long.

Through the tears, I blubber to Mycah about _everything_. I doubt he can understand much, but he listens anyway. And when the tears dry up and there's nothing left, he keeps holding me.

"You're home now," he whispers.

* * *

In another world, in a fortress of both stone and magic, Abelas stands gazing down at a long line of… elves. In his mind, the term can only be applied in the loosest sense. They are lithe and possess pointed ears, but that is where the similarities end. There are only a few from whom he can sense a faint hum of magic. The rest feel… empty.

Abelas wonders, not for the first time, at the Dread Wolf's decision to call them here. He sees little use for them. As weak as they are, these pitiful creatures are more liability than asset. However, until he can parse out his leader's motivations, Abelas will remain quiet on the subject.

Unfortunately, _understanding_ Fen'Harel would require _seeing_ him, and Abelas has had little opportunity for such. The man spends weeks at a time closed away in his quarters, with orders only to disturb him under the direst of circumstances.

That is yet another thing Abelas wonders at. The Dread Wolf has… changed, since last he saw him. Gone is the fire, the fury. He is quieter now, in both manner and appearance. And, if Abelas did not know better, he would say Fen'Harel seemed _conflicted_. But what, precisely, could make him waver in the face of such a purpose?

Abelas thinks suddenly of the quickling from the temple – the otherworlder. The ancient elf is ashamed to admit he did not recognize the Dread Wolf at the time, but he recalls now how close Fen'Harel seemed to be with the woman.

 _Ah,_ he thinks, for the woman is clearly not here any longer. She is gone… and the Dread Wolf wavers. But should not such things be set aside? Their purpose is a noble one – the return of magic and the return of its People. Now is not the time to let sentiment get in the way.

He will watch, then. And if Fen'Harel should stumble, well… Abelas clearly has much to ponder. For now, he has duties to attend to.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: Uh, I kind of cried while writing this, so maybe grab a box of tissues before you start?

To 0w0Arr: Thank you! For all of that. I'm so happy and honored you consider me one of your favorites!

* * *

Chapter 3: Love, Dad

With a long and satisfied groan, I sink lower into the hot, sudsy water.

 _An actual bubble bath. How long has it been?_

Probably since before I left Earth, really. It's fitting that it's happening now.

I blow at the bubbles. A clump detaches and whips into the air before slowly floating back down. The hot water feels incredible, soothing the aches of my injuries. Unfortunately, it's not doing much for my pounding head.

I sit up again and grab the new razor Talisse bought for me.

 _Now there's something I haven't used in a while._

Shaving isn't exactly practical with my lifestyle. Either I'm on a planet where they've never even heard of lady razors or I'm alone in the wilderness with no convenience store in sight. So this… yeah, this is exciting.

I grin and start going to town on my furry legs. As much as I enjoy the wind rustling through my leg hairs, this – I stroke my fingers over the newly smooth skin – is _so_ much better.

I take long enough to shave everything that the water goes cold. I drain the tub, watching a gross mix of hair, blood, and weeks-old dirt swirl away. Then I refill it, adding more bubble stuff. It smells like roses, which usually isn't my thing, but neither is pickiness. Not anymore, anyway.

Next, I wash my hair which, admittedly, needs it very badly. It's grown in the last few years, though I've never let it get past my shoulders. I've taken to wearing it in a braid, for convenience. There were times I almost just lopped it all off again, but… and perhaps it's silly of me, but sometimes I miss my long hair. It used to reach my waist, before everything went to shit.

 _And now I'm getting nostalgic._

I close my eyes and dunk my head below the surface to rinse. Afterwards, I let myself enjoy the warm water while it lasts. Eventually, it cools once more and I let it drain, crawling out with a wince and wrapping a fluffy brown towel around myself. Feeling like spoiling myself, I use a second for my hair.

Then, for the first time in a while, I look in a mirror. And cringe.

 _I look horrible!_

The middle of my face is just one giant bruise. My nose is also slightly crooked now. With trepidation, I pull the towel aside and look at my ribs.

 _Damn._

My side is mottled in different putrid colors. I poke it, because I'm an idiot, and immediately regret the action.

"Fuck!"

"Are you okay in there?" Talisse's voice, muffled by the door, sounds worried.

"Yeah, I'm good. Thanks!"

"All right. I forgot to tell you, those products on the counter are for you."

I look down and, sure enough, there's a cluster of bottles and tubes next to the sink. "Thank you."

"No problem," Talisse replies and I hear her walk off.

I eye a bottle of lotion greedily, hesitating only a second before grabbing it and slathering it on. It smells like roses, too, but who even cares anymore.

I only end up using the lotion, deodorant, toothbrush, and toothpaste. Even so, I'm feeling blissed out. It hits me again that I'm really here, really home, and I have to sit on the closed toilet lid and cry for a little bit.

After splashing my face with cold water to get rid of some of the redness, I wrap my ribs with bandages provided by the hospital and shrug into a fluffy robe.

There's a basket of clean clothes waiting outside the bathroom door. Talisse told me that, with such short notice, she was only able to grab some of my things out of their attic and wash them. That's fine with me.

I drag the basket into the bathroom – there will be no lifting for me for quite a while – and start rifling through it. There are some jeans, hoodies, and my large collection of nerdy t-shirts. I pull out a black one and hold it up. My heart skips at the image on the front: a large black wolf with too many eyes looming over a cloaked figure. I quickly crumple the shirt into a ball and shove it under the others.

 _Nope. Not thinking about it. No, sir._

I grab some jeans, a Mass Effect shirt, and a black zip-up hoodie. There's also an unopened package of underwear in the basket, but no bra. Understandable. I wouldn't have expected Talisse to buy one. Besides, it would hurt to wear right now.

I dress as quickly as I can, considering my rib. Clean clothing feels incredible against my equally clean skin. They are a bit loose on me, but that's not surprising.

I slip Ghillie's necklace over my head before gathering my towels and heading downstairs. Halfway down, the framed pictures on the wall catch my eye and I pause to look.

There are old ones of me and Mycah and Dad, but most are new. Baby pictures of Christina, wedding photos of Mycah and Talisse, and a few of people I don't know. I linger over one of my brother and his family. It looks fairly recent. It's sunny in the picture and it looks like they're at the beach. All three of them wear white, so it was probably staged; it certainly looks professional. What really holds my attention, though, are their smiles. Brilliant… brighter than the sun that beats down on them. They look so incredibly happy…

 ** _You'll ruin it._**

 _How? Mycah seems really happy I'm here…_

 ** _You can't stay forever._**

I frown, push the thought aside, and continue down the stairs. Talisse sees me and hurries over, taking the towels out of my hands.

"Rhynn," Mycah says, setting a hand on my shoulder. "I brought down the rest of your stuff, if you want to take a look. I, uh… also brought down Dad's…"

I swallow down the lump in my throat and nod. Mycah leads me to the living room where a stack of boxes waits by the couch. I sit and, after a second, open the closest one. My eyes widen and I choke back a sob. There, right on the top, is Dad's old leather jacket. I press a fist to my mouth and turn away from Mycah's prying eyes.

I feel him move closer, but don't look up. He just presses a kiss to the top of my head and steps away.

"Let me know if you need anything, sis," he says quietly. "Anything at all." Then he leaves the room.

 _How, after all this time, does he still know me so well?_

I wipe away the tears that managed to slip free and pull out Dad's jacket. After a quick glance around to make sure I'm really alone, I press it to my face and inhale. Nothing. I don't know what I was expecting… There's no way it could've still smelled like him after this long, but I'd hoped.

 ** _Ah, hope._**

Still, I keep it in my lap while I look through the rest of the boxes.

There are an assortment of things. Old pictures, random trinkets, jewelry, sheet music, a couple of video games. I linger over the pictures, tracing smiling faces with trembling fingers. I take a few out of their frames and set them on the coffee table.

I recognize most of Dad's things – most notably his ridiculous dragon statuette collection. I remember he used to line them up on his desk. I add a couple of the smaller ones to my pile, smiling faintly.

 _I bet Bull would get a crack out of them._

My smile disappears.

"Are those dragons?" a young voice asks and I look up to find Christina watching me curiously.

"Chrissie, hon, come back in the kitchen with us," Mycah says to her, popping his head in.

"It's okay, Myc," I reassure. "She can stay in here." I look back at Christina. "Want to look?"

She nods eagerly and skips over, hopping up onto the couch. Her bare feet don't touch the floor when she sits. She kicks them a little, as if the energy just can't be contained. I smile and hand her one of the small dragon statues.

"It's so cute!" she exclaims, turning the dragon over in her hands.

"You can have it. It was… it was your grandfather's." I nearly choke on the words. "He would've wanted you to have it."

Christina gasps delightedly and throws her arms around my neck. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_!"

I wince a little as my rib twinges, but then I smile. "You're welcome."

She sits right next to me this time, holding the statuette like it's the most precious thing she's ever owned. It's pretty cute.

"I like your necklace, Auntie Rhynn," she says suddenly, eyes on the cord around my neck.

 _Auntie Rhynn? God help me._

I reach up and run my fingers over the carved bird pendant. "Thank you. It belonged to a friend of mine." I glance at her. "He was about your age."

Her head tilts. "What happened to him?"

 _Perceptive._

"He had to go be with his mom," I reply vaguely, not really wanting to get into that.

"Oh, okay."

"Hey, want to see a picture of your dad when he was little?" I ask, seeking a distraction. Christina nods excitedly, so I start showing her the old photos. We do that for a while before she runs off to chatter to her parents about it.

The next box I open is full of files, newspaper clippings, printed-out articles, and notes. It takes me a second to realize it's all about strange disappearances. I clench my teeth and set that stuff aside. I don't particularly want to look through it.

At the bottom of the box is an old, dented tin. I pull it out and set it in my lap before carefully removing the lid. Inside is… more paper.

 _But why did he keep them in here?_

Curious now, I unfold the paper at the top.

 _"To my little girl,"_

I nearly drop the letter, biting my lip to stifle a gasp.

 _Oh, God. This…_

After a breath, I keep reading.

 _"To my little girl,_

 _It's been a year now… I miss you more than ever. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you. Wherever you are, I hope you know that. And I have to think you're alive out there somewhere. If not… well, I don't let myself think like that. I'd go crazy._

 _Nobody here believes me, but I know what I saw. I saw my little girl disappear right in front of my eyes, and there wasn't anything I could do. It kills me, you know? You reached out for me, asking for help, and I failed you. I'm so sorry I failed you, Rhynn. But I've decided something. I'm never going to give up on you, my little curmudgeon. If the cops won't help, then I'll find the answers myself. From this day on, I won't rest until I've found you._

 _I hope you're safe, wherever you are. I love you more than the stars._

 _Love,_

 _Dad"_

With shaking hands and wet cheeks, I unfold the next letter.

 _"Rhynn,_

 _It took a long time, but I think I've found some promising leads. I've talked to a few other people who have had a loved one disappear like you did. This is good. It means you may not have been the only one. It's at least something to go off of._

 _I've had to start labeling and filing things, with all this research. I thought you'd be impressed by that. You always teased me about my lack of organizational skills. Sometimes the amount of information to sort through gets a bit overwhelming, but I just think of your smiling face and that helps._

 _Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that things are finally starting to look up. I love you more than the stars._

 _Love,_

 _Dad"_

The next letter is dated a month later.

 _"I'm so sorry…_

 _Those leads didn't pan out. They ended up being complete bullshit or just some coping mechanism of a grieving parent. I suppose I can understand the latter. Sometimes I wish I could pretend you were still here._

 _God, I don't know what I'm doing. I wish your mom was here. She'd know what to do. She always did._

 _Don't worry, Rhynn. I'm still not giving up on you. Maybe I just need to go further back…_

 _Love, Dad."_

The letters continue on like that, spanning nearly a decade. They follow that same pattern of promise followed by disappointment. It's painful to read. After eight years, the letters stop. There's only one left, dated a year from the previous.

 _"To my beautiful daughter,_

 _I think this will be the last letter I write to you. If you're still alive, I see now that you're lost to me. I have failed you completely. I'm so sorry, my sweet girl. You didn't deserve what life gave you. I wish with everything I am that it could've been me instead. But you know what they say about wishes…_

 _I'm so tired, Rhynn. Tired of disappointment after disappointment. Tired of chasing my own tail. I did everything I could, and it still wasn't enough to bring you back. I promised you I'd never give up, but I'm afraid I have no choice but to break that promise._

 _Forgive me, Rhynn. I'm so sorry for failing you._

 _I love you more than the stars. Always and forever._

 _Love,_

 _Dad"_

The tin and all of its letters tumble to the floor as I clutch Dad's jacket and sob into it. Each sob is like a white-hot knife to the side, but I can't stop.

 _Oh, Dad… it wasn't your fault!_

I wish more than anything that I could tell him that. That I could spare him all those years of pain.

"Rhynn?" Mycah asks worriedly, sitting down next to me. I can't look at him, sobbing harder instead. There's a rustling of paper, followed by a muttered curse. Then Mycah wraps his arms around me. "Shit, Rhynn. I'm sorry… I forgot those were in there."

"'S not your fault…" I mumble into cool leather, my sobs quickly turning into hiccups.

"Tally, can you get her some water?" he asks someone else. A few moments later, a cup is being pressed into my hand. By then, I've calmed enough to take a couple of sips. Myc keeps holding me, though, even as Talisse picks up the letters and seals them back in the tin.

"Dinner's just about ready," Talisse says to me. "Want something to eat?"

I nod, following her into the kitchen with Dad's coat still clutched to my chest and Mycah right by my side. When I sit at the table, Christina drags her chair next to mine and takes my hand. It's… actually quite comforting.

I don't realize how hungry I am until I'm halfway through my plate and everyone is trying not to stare while I shovel the food in. I slow down a bit after that. A second large helping later, I push the plate away and lean back a bit in my chair.

"Mycah?" I start, voice hoarse.

His head snaps up. "Hm?"

"Where is Dad buried?"

He freezes for a second before nodding to himself. "The cemetery near our old house. I can take you there tomorrow if you want…?"

"Yes… please."

"'Course."

* * *

Varric Tethras, perched behind a very official looking desk, removes his reading glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

Despite an entire day of work, there's still a mountain of business left to attend to. It's days like today that make him miss the Hanged Man more than anything. Life was infinitely simpler when that dirty tavern was his base of operations and he drank the swill it served with pride. Now he sits up here, sipping expensive alcohols and stubbornly ignoring the advice of his seneschal. He still can't quite get over the fact that he has a _seneschal_ in the first place.

A knock at the door pulls him out of his thoughts. Before he can answer it, though, the person barges in.

"Hawke, good to see you."

"You look like shit, Varric," the man replies bluntly, setting a large crate right on top of all the paperwork on the desk. Varric can't bring himself to care. "I come bearing gifts, though." Hawke sets a brown bottle on top of the crate – ale from the Hanged Man. Varric grins, grabbing it, reminded once again why Hawke is his best friend.

"Just what I needed," Varric sighs happily after taking a swig. "Thanks. What's in the box?"

"You tell me!" Hawke replies. "Bran shoved it into my arms as soon as I came through the door. Said something about not wanting to deal with any more of your shit today."

Varric snorts and pries open the crate. What's inside gives him pause. He'd… nearly forgotten, what with all this viscount business. Gently, Varric reaches in and pulls out one of the books and flips through the pages.

 _The diagrams came out well_ , he notes objectively.

"What are these?" Hawke questions, grabbing another of the books. "They don't look like your typical stuff."

"They're not," Varric replies. "They're a compilation of someone else's work."

"Wait, is this that healing book you mentioned?" Hawke flips casually through it. "I thought you'd decided not to make it, you know, considering…"

Varric shrugs. "She left all her notes and drawings. I figured somebody should make money off them, so why not me?"

Hawke just hums and gives him a look.


	4. Chapter 4

Notes: The last Earth chapter! The amazing Beatrix Marigold Waters belongs to Random Person (AO3). Thank you for sharing such an incredible character with me! I wish I'd been able to do more with her. Who knows, maybe I'll write some one-shots of Trix and Rhynn before the events of Traveler.

* * *

Chapter 4: Goodbyes

"I'll wait here," Mycah tells me as I climb out of the car, a small bouquet of flowers clutched tightly in my hand. I nod and shut the door.

It's a modest cemetery. Most of the headstones don't reach past my knees and the paths aren't paved. There are a lot of old trees, though, with big, gnarled trunks and twisting branches. Their leaves break up the sunlight, scattering it across grass and stone. And, except for the breeze rustling through, all is quiet. There's only the faint hum of traffic in the distance and the crunch of my own feet over gravel.

I follow the paths to the plot Mycah pointed out when we got here. It's simple, the headstone lying flat in the ground, rather than upright.

 _Daniel and Violet Torpin._

Just their names, birth dates, and death dates. Nothing more, but I kind of appreciate the simplicity. I brush some dead leaves off the surface and sit cross-legged on the ground in front of it. There's a bundle of dry, brown flowers leaning against it that I toss aside, setting the fresh ones in their place.

I remember coming here with Dad when Mycah and I were little. We used to visit Mom a lot back then. Over the years, we found less and less time for such things. I don't remember much about her, only that she was very soft. Her hair, eyes, skin, voice… all of it soft. She loved to garden and the house was always filled with the prettiest blooms. Every night, she'd read to me stories of adventure and love. The cancer that took her was fast and ruthless.

When I think of her, there is barely the slightest twinge in my chest. An old pain, well-healed by years of love and care from my remaining family, leaving only the impression of something precious lost. It is _nothing_ like the ragged hole left by Dad's death.

I sight quietly and run my fingers over the chiseled letters of their names. I want to say _something_ , but I have no idea where to start. I decide to talk to Mom first.

"Hey, Mom… It's been… well, it's been a very long time, hasn't it?" I pause, unsure. "I wish I'd taken more time to come visit, back when I was still around. I'm sorry about that… I remember you being kind, though, so I doubt you'd hold it against me. I… I'm glad you're not alone anymore. I just wish I'd had a little more time with Dad, you know? I dreamed of coming home and seeing him again. Him and Mycah. But I'd say if I've learned anything over the years, it's that I rarely get what I want. So… I take what I can get."

I shift my gaze and fingers to my dad's name. "So I'll take this and be happy for it… eventually. Don't get me wrong, it's been like a dream seeing Mycah again and meeting his wife and little girl – they're beautiful and I can tell he's happy. So I'm happy for him, but this is all so overwhelming and _god_ … I wish you were here, Dad. I miss you so damn much…" I hunch over and will away the tears. It doesn't work. "I wish more than anything that you'd been here to welcome me home. A-and I'm sorry for all the years you spent looking for me. I wish I could've come home sooner, so you could've known that I'm okay. Th-thank you for the letters – "

My voice cracks with emotion and I have to take a minute to compose myself.

"I read them yesterday. It means a lot that you took the time to write to me, even if I wasn't here. I-I want you to know that I don't blame you for giving up. It wasn't your fault… _any of it_. I just drew the short straw in life. I wish I could tell you that I've been safe all this time, but I won't lie to you. It's been… really rough. I've been through a lot; had more than my share of misery, if I'm being honest." I let my hand drop back into my lap.

"You should know it hasn't all been bad, though. I've been to so many places, met so many different kinds of people!" I give a small chuckle. "Aliens are real, Dad! And most of them are actually not all that different from us. That's not even the weirdest thing, though. Do you remember those games I used to play all the time? Dragon Age? That world is real! I was _there!_ I know, I know; I sound like a crazy person. Trust me, if it hadn't happened to me, I would never believe it. But it's true… I don't usually stay anywhere for very long, but I was in Thedas for over a year. The longest I've ever been anywhere, besides Earth. It was… nice." I sigh again and pick at the grass.

"I, well… I made a lot of friends there. I tried not to, because of some… stuff that happened on a different planet. But it's hard to stay distant from people like that. They have a way of getting under your skin, but in a good way you know? And – ok, now I'm really going to sound crazy – I fell in love." Air escapes my lungs in a disbelieving huff. "Wow, look at me, actually saying that out loud…" My face falls into a frown once more. "Damn, but I miss him. His name is Solas and he's an elf. Yeah, I know. You can stop giving me that look. I just told you aliens are real and now you're doubting the existence of elves? Please, Dad." I give the headstone a slight smirk. "I think you'd like Solas, though. He takes a bit to warm up to. He's brilliant, but also a bit of an ass sometimes. But he's got a wonderful, wry sense of humor that I think you'd appreciate."

I gaze off deeper into the cemetery, lost in thought for a while before my eyes focus back on the stone before me. "I've… done some things you might not be proud of me for. I know I'm certainly not proud of them. But I'm going to do better from now on… _be_ better. You taught me love and compassion and strength. I'm sorry I haven't always followed that. That's why I'm promising you now that I'll always strive to be someone you'd be proud to call your daughter."

Saying all of this out loud… It has me realizing something. "Whatever I am… whatever reason it is that I travel from one world to another… I may not have asked for it, but… well, it's my life. I think… I think maybe I've been looking at it the wrong way. I've been a victim of circumstance for too long. Even if… even if I never learn to control this _thing_ , my life doesn't have to be meaningless, does it?" I shake my head. "No. I'll make it mean something. For you, Dad. For Mycah and his beautiful family. For Solas and my friends. _For me._ "

I rise up on my knees and touch the cool surface of the gravestone with both hands. "I miss you, Dad. More than you can possibly imagine." I think of the letters. "Or… maybe you can. I have so many regrets, and one of them is not making it home in time. I'm sorry you had to die thinking I was lost forever. I'd do anything to fix that…" I bow my head for a second, letting the tears slip free, then I sit up straight and nod. "But I'm here now, and I'll make the most of it while it lasts. I love you more than the stars, Dad. Wherever you are, I hope Mom is there. I know you missed her."

I kiss my fingers and press them to the carved names, then stand. Before I can turn around, a cleared throat has me whirling and falling into a defensive posture. Just as quickly, though, my muscles go lax in shock.

The petite woman in front of me is older than the one I remember, in more ways than one. Her hair is shorter – much shorter – and the familiar bangs are gone. She also stands a bit straighter, holds her head a bit higher. But there's no mistaking those eyes… Like sunlight through a brown bottle, one lighter than the other.

She gasps quietly, mismatched eyes darting over my face.

"Trix…?" I whisper, disbelieving.

She visibly schools her face into a smirk and crosses her arms, "Mycah said I'd find you here."

I don't give a second thought to closing the small distance between us and hugging her fiercely. It doesn't matter that past-me would've hesitated before showing such blatant affection to this reserved girl; current-me is just happy to see my old friend.

I can feel her stiffen in my arms, but before too long, she starts hugging me back, fingers twisting in the fabric covering my back.

"Ugh," she mock groans. "Quit your sniffling. It's only been a decade or so. Sheesh!"

I laugh wetly, still not letting go.

"Shut up," I grumble. "I missed you, okay?"

"Doesn't mean you have to get your snot all over me," she snarks, but she doesn't let go either. A second later, so quiet I nearly miss it, she whispers, "I missed you, too."

Eventually, I pull back to look at her. If her eyes are a bit red, I don't mention it.

"Look at you!" I exclaim, tugging gently on a strand of her hair. "You cut it! What will you hide behind now?" I tease.

She scowls at me and somehow manages to make the small amount of hair obscure her face when she ducks her chin.

"Must you always prove me wrong?" I huff.

"Duh."

Then we're grinning at each other like idiots.

Trix eyes my face again. "Look at me? Look at _you!_ You look like you battled a lawn mower and lost!"

I chuckle, scratching at a scar on my chin. "Something like that."

It isn't until we fall into a slightly awkward silence that something occurs to me.

"How… how long have you been standing here?" I ask nervously.

Trix frowns, looking down as she rocks on her heels. "Long enough."

I freeze, scanning her face for a reaction. When nothing is forthcoming, I prompt, "And…?"

"And what?" Trix asks.

"I'm assuming you heard me talking about Dragon Age."

She nods.

I make a frustrated noise. "Come on, Trix, give me something here!"

"What do you want me to say?" she shrugs.

I huff. "Well…? Do you think I'm crazy?"

"I've always thought that," Trix scoffs.

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I!" she suddenly yells, chin tilting upwards defiantly. "I'm not stupid, Rhynn!"

I frown, rubbing at my forearm. "I never said you were – "

"You know, when Mycah called me, I thought he'd lost it. I mean, your old man did, so maybe junior was just following in his footsteps!"

"Too far, Trix," I growl, but she ignores me.

"But the more he talked, the more I started to wonder. I… I had to come see for myself. And here you are, in the fucking flesh!" She sweeps her arms dramatically in my direction. I flinch, not expecting such emotion from her. "When I saw you sitting here, I thought maybe _I_ was going crazy. Then you turned around and… shit, Rhynn, your _face_! I think, if I was hallucinating, you'd look like you did before. And to top it all off, you were babbling on about visiting other _worlds!_ Not just any worlds, either. _Video game_ worlds! What the _fuck_ , Rhynn?! What am I supposed to say to that? Please tell me, because I don't have a clue!"

By the end, Trix's face is red and she's clenching her hands into fists. I just stare at her, shocked by the outburst.

"Wow, I don't think I've ever heard you talk so much in your life," I finally say.

She glares. "Oh fuck you, Rhynn."

I sigh, still rubbing at my arm. "Look, I don't know what to tell you…"

"The truth would be nice," she snaps. "Myc fed me some bullshit line about you having amnesia. I could tell right away. He's always been a shitty liar."

I nod in agreement, then sigh again and jerk my head toward a nearby tree. Trix follows and we sit side-by-side beneath it. It takes a bit, but I tell her everything. Even things I didn't tell Mycah. When I start talking about Thedas, Trix's expression turns skeptical. But, as I go on, it fades into something else. Not quite belief – not yet – but close.

After a long, heavy silence, Trix finally speaks.

"Do you know how long you'll be here?" Matter-of-fact, as per usual. It's comforting.

I shake my head and shrug at the same time.

"Damn…" she breathes.

"Yep."

A sudden thought pops into my head and I gasp. "There were more Dragon Age games after I left, right?"

"Yeah..?"

"What happened?" I demand.

Trix's eyes shutter and she looks away. "I… don't really know, specifically."

I frown in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Trix blows a raspberry and lets her hair fall across her cheek. Then she mutters something, too low to hear.

"What?"

"I said I stopped playing…"

My face scrunches up. "What? Why?"

"You know why," she grumbles, still not looking at me.

It takes a second to click. "Oh…" Dragon Age was our thing.

I need to know, though, so I continue. "But you must know _something_."

Trix sighs, breath fluttering her sleek, black hair. "Look, all I know is that Solas tries to end the world and the goal of the fourth game was to stop him. There were more games, but I'm assuming you probably don't care about those."

I freeze, blinking rapidly. "What did you say?"

"I said there were more games – "

"No, about Solas."

She gives me a look but complies. "I said he tries to end the world."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask, suddenly frantic, a pit forming in my stomach. "Do you mean, like, take the Veil down and that changes the world, or…?"

She's still giving me that look. "I mean he literally tries to end the world, including everyone in it. Something about restoring the elves and making things the way they were."

 _Oh, no._

 _Please no._

"He tries to kill them…? All those people?" I press a trembling hand to my mouth. "Oh, God… What have I done?"

"Rhynn?" Trix asks, tone worried.

I stand suddenly and begin pacing, arms stiff at my sides. "That _bastard_!" I spit.

"Calm down and tell me what's going on," Trix commands, standing now too.

"I helped him save the orb, Trix!" I exclaim, grabbing her by the shoulders. "I helped him because I trusted him and that bastard _lied to me!_ " The last part comes out in a growl and I spin away to resume my pacing. "I thought he only wanted to take down the Veil! I'm such an idiot!"

Trix's eyes are wide. "You… you're telling the truth, aren't you?" she asks quietly.

I give her a scathing look. "No, I made the whole thing up."

Her eyes narrow. "Don't get sassy with me, _Rhynnara_."

"Shut your face, then, _Beatrix_."

The tension ebbs a bit at the teasing and we share a moment of silent nostalgia.

My thoughts turn inward once more, and every one of them is telling me this is my fault. If it hadn't been for me, Solas' orb would've been destroyed, setting him back in his plans. But because of me, he has a head start. What chance do Aila and the rest have when I more-or-less restored Solas to godhood?

"I need to fix it," I state, quiet but determined.

"I still have the books," Trix tells me and the look on my face must say it all. "I'll go home and get them. I live a ways away, so I won't be back until tomorrow." She pulls me into a succinct hug, barely enough time to return it before she's stepping back. "Don't go anywhere." The words are phrased as a joke, but there's real worry in her eyes.

"I'll still be here," I reassure.

"Okay then," she nods, hesitates, then walks away.

* * *

Trix comes to the house the next day, arms laden with heavy lore books. I pore over them, looking for answers to questions I don't even know how to ask yet. All I know is that I need to understand. Trix helps, even if only by drawing penises on the page I'm reading just to make me laugh.

Days pass and Trix takes up residence in the spare bedroom with me, saying something about a much-needed break from poking whiny people with needles. Mycah eventually asks what we're doing and I can't bring myself to lie, so I tell him about Thedas. He reacts about the same as Trix, and I have to deal with the resulting freak out while Trix watches the whole thing with a smirk, unhelpful as always. In the end, I'm not sure Myc really believes it, but he's at least willing to humor me.

Despite my preoccupation, I make sure to spend time with my family and Trix. There's no way in hell I'm taking advantage of the first kindness fate has given me in years. Trix and I spend hours just talking. She tells me about the new games she plays, about her work, and about the ridiculous dates her mom has been trying to set up for her. She has a little sister now, a twelve-year-old named Hannah. I can hear the fondness in Trix's voice when she talks about her.

Mycah starts renting movies I've missed, insisting that I need to get caught up. Some of them are really impressive; movie-making tech has clearly made a lot of improvements while I've been gone. Mostly, though, I just enjoy being able to sit next to my brother and do something as normal as watch a film.

Talisse takes me to different stores and shops to stock up on clothes and toiletries. I'd really be fine getting by with what I already have, but she insisted and I can't say it's not nice to have my own things again. She also takes me to a spa. I don't normally go for that kind of thing, but I'm not about to turn down my first real massage in over a decade.

Christina takes me out in the yard and shows me all her favorite spots in the garden. I teach her how to make mud pies, and when I mention Mycah used to make them too, she drags him out to join us. We spend an entire afternoon making mud foods and serving them in our pretend restaurant.

At night, though, when everyone else is asleep and Trix is snoring loudly in the bed next to me, I lay there wide awake and think. I know I can't stay here forever. I would love to… To forget about the rest of the universe and just exist happily in this little one. But that's not my life. There's a part of me that wants to leave, if only to return to Thedas. I miss my friends there and I still miss Solas. Most of all, though, I _need_ to fix the mess I made. If anything happens to the people of Thedas, it will be on me. I _cannot_ let Solas follow through with his plans.

So, when the buzz comes, sooner than I expected, it's not the blow it might normally have been.

The atmosphere in the house turns somber in the following days. I'm determined to return to Thedas, yes, but that doesn't make leaving home again any easier. On the morning of my final day, I rise early and take a long shower. Afterwards, Talisse braids my hair with gentle fingers and tells me how thankful she is to have met me. I don't try to hide my tears.

We all sit and eat a big breakfast of pancakes and bacon and sugary syrup. Christina presses a small metal object into my palm afterwards. Curious, I hold it up and realize it's a locket.

"It was Chrissy's idea," Mycah explains. "But it's from all of us."

Carefully, I pry the locket open. Inside are two pictures. One is of Mycah, Talisse, and Christina – the one at the beach – and the other is of Trix making a funny face. I swallow down the lump in my throat and close the locket again. Then I take off my necklace, slip the new pendant onto the cord beside the carved bird, and retie it around my neck.

"Thank you," I say softly, looking at each of their faces in turn just to commit this moment to memory.

I spend the rest of the time packing up my things into a new backpack. There are toiletries and sturdy clothing, food rations and Dad's dragon statuettes. Inside a durable, water-tight container, there are also Dad's letters and a number of photos, both old and new. Weighing the bag down considerably are a few of the more pertinent lore books, as well.

Today I have on my Fallout t-shirt – the one with Vault Boy giving a thumbs up – and a pair of cargo pants. As the buzzing steadily increases, I begin strapping on my holsters, sliding weapons into their designated places. And then, over the top, I shrug on Dad's old leather jacket. It's a bit big, but not unmanageable. I zip it up and sling my backpack over my shoulder.

One by one, I hug my family goodbye. I hug Mycah the longest and both of us pull away with tears glistening on our cheeks.

"Stay safe, Rhynnie," he pleads.

I just nod, speaking too much for me at the moment.

"I'll try to come back, if I can," I say eventually.

"You'd better," Trix threatens, though her eyes are suspiciously moist.

"I love you all," I tell them, closing my eyes.

"We love you, too," I hear Mycah reply as the buzz grows overwhelming.

I don't try to fight it this time. Instead, I sink into the feeling until my whole body feels like a livewire. Then I focus on Thedas, specifically the most familiar part of it: my clinic at Skyhold. I hold that image in my mind, willing myself to go there. I know I can do it. I made it home, after all. I don't waver in my thoughts, more determined than ever before.

Earth fades away. I feel a breeze on my face and open my eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Notes: Sorry for the wait! I've been super busy lately. This chapter is shorter than my usual ones, but I figured you all wouldn't mind, as long as I put _something_ out. The OC at the beginning of this chapter belongs to AkatsukiShizu3. Thanks for the character! I expect we'll be seeing Asalandiva again in future chapters.

* * *

Chapter 5: It's her!

Drawing her cloak more tightly about her slender frame, Asalandiva notes that _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ feels unusually cold today. A chill seems to seep through the stone and into her back as she leans against it, gazing out over the courtyard.

This post is anything but exciting, but she doesn't really mind. It is a nice reprieve from the chaos of war. If nothing else, life has taught her to appreciate such moments.

Asalandiva lets her mind drift, eventually settling on her current predicament. And not for the first time; she has been worrying the topic over and over in her mind since she accepted. Naturally, she has her doubts. She was there when the empire crumbled… when the world ended. Falon'Din's _vallaslin_ , bold upon her face, stands as a testament to the events she has witnessed.

Afterward, so many of her people tossed blame about like sacks of grain; angry, lost, and careless. Asalandiva wanted to join them. Life as she knew it had ended. It would have been so easy to cast stones. Instead, she held her anger close, a small flame hidden within her rib cage. She watched and waited and saved her fury for those truly responsible.

Therefore, when Fen'Harel's people sought her out, she agreed to at least hear what they had to say. And what they did fit too well for her to brush it off. She went with them, despite her misgivings. Then she spoke with the Dread Wolf himself. His sincerity struck something within her – perhaps that small flame, kept hidden for so long.

So here she is, sworn into service once more – though a much different kind of service this time. She is a free woman, for one. Fen'Harel offered to remove the _vallaslin_ , and though she considered it, she ultimately declined. The markings are too much a part of her now.

As Asalandiva's thoughts continue to roam, force of habit keeps her ears sensitive to the faintest of sounds. That is why, when a quiet gasp echoes up from the courtyard, she barely hesitates before ducking down and out of sight. Brow furrowed in confusion, she wonders how someone was able to sneak into the fortress without her noticing.

 _Did they see me?_ She worries, moving silently along the walkway in search of a better position for spying.

Delicate ear tips twitching, she slinks through an open doorway and peeks out through a slit in the stone. What she sees is… perplexing. It is a woman, black hair pulled into a neat braid. She wears very strange clothing and carries a sack of some sort on her back. She faces away from Asalandiva's hiding spot and seems to be taking in her surroundings. Quite suddenly, the woman throws her arms up and shouts with excitement… and relief?

Then the stranger turns and Asalandiva finally gets a good look at her face. Thick brows, deep-set eyes, and a set of scars running diagonally across her face. Asalandiva finds herself having to stifle her own gasp.

 _The rumors… Could they really be true?_

Ever since the closing of the Breach, there had been stories circulating about a strange woman with scars on her face. Some said she was from another world, others said she was merely a demon. Some even claimed she may have been Fen'Harel's lover. Asalandiva could not even begin to pinpoint the truth, but she knew this was important. That this woman would show up here, of all places, and seemingly out of midair. Whether he actually has ties to her or not, her leader will want to know.

Asalandiva suddenly wonders if that isn't the real reason she was posted here, at the former seat of the Inquisition.

The fair-skinned elf watches the woman for a few more moments before sneaking further down the wall to another room. Pulling something from a pocket of her armor, Asalandiva unlocks the eluvian within, flooding the small area with ice-blue light. Then the elf steps through and locks the portal behind her, leaving the other side dim once more.

* * *

I open my eyes to a sight that is both familiar… and yet not. It's definitely Skyhold – I let out a gasp of delight at the fact – but it's too quiet, not a soul in sight. The longer I stand here, listening, the more convinced I am that the fortress is actually deserted.

I almost can't believe my eyes. As determined as I was to come here, part of me still expected disappointment. But I was of (mostly) sound mind when I left. There's no reason why I'd be hallucinating this.

Pure emotion wells up within me. Anger and indignation are pushed aside to make way for joy, relief, and excitement. I throw my hands in the air and let out a _whoop_ of triumph.

 _I'm back, bitches!_

I turn, taking in my surroundings. As I do, though, reality sets in. Yes, I made it back to Thedas and that's great, but where is everyone? I knew there was a possibility the Inquisition might have disbanded, but I never thought they'd completely vacate Skyhold. Upon closer inspection, it's clear no one has lived here for quite some time.

Still pondering, I begin to wander. I start with my clinic. None of my supplies have been left behind, of course. I continue on to the main hall. Nothing remains; even the banners have been taken down.

 _Where did they go?_

I run over the possibilities in my mind. Haven is the closest. That should be my first stop.

With the beginnings of a plan in place, I decide to bunk down for the night. The sun is almost set and I'll need to get an early start. I pull out a ration bar and nibble on it thoughtfully.

I think about my friends and what they might be doing now. I know some things from my research, but not all. And who knows how my interference might have changed things. I frown at the thought.

As I curl up in a pile of old, musty hay, I can't help but wonder what sleep will bring. Will Solas be able to sense me in the Fade? If so, will he come?

I ignore the way my heart speeds up at that and close my eyes. Eventually, I drift off.

* * *

If Solas knows that I'm back, he doesn't show himself. I leave Skyhold the next morning and begin the long journey to Haven. It seems like a lifetime ago that I traveled with the rest of the Inquisition on this same route.

Each night, my dreams are a jumble of images, nothing distinct. And yet, each morning I wake with a vague feeling of having been watched. It's maddening. I can't be sure if it's all my imagination or if Solas has decided to avoid me. Either way, there isn't much I can do about it – not yet, at least – so I trudge on.

A few days in, that last shower back home is a distant memory. My hair has come loose from its braid in stringy clumps and I feel as if I'm covered in a thin layer of grime. Before going home, that was more-or-less my normal state of being. It seems I've become spoiled by daily bathing.

When I finally reach Haven, I almost don't realize it. The town is still buried in snow. I feel my heart sink as I gaze down at it from atop a nearby hill. Though I know there's no point, I feel my feet carry me forward.

"Stop where you are."

I freeze, heart beating double-time. There's someone behind me. Senses heightened by adrenaline, I can hear their breath and the creak of hide as they draw a bow taught.

"On your knees," the voice commands, a woman's. I comply, dropping into the cold snow. My mind races, looking for a way out of this. Just as I'm about to roll to the side, two more archers appear from behind trees to my right and left.

 _Shit._

One of them, a young man who looks barely old enough to handle a weapon, inches closer, eyes locked onto my face. As I watch, they widen with shock and recognition.

"Maker!" he breathes. "It's her!"

 _It is?_

The woman behind me circles around, peering at me from between the strips of fabric wrapped around her head.

"Lisen," she barks at the other person, the one who hadn't spoken yet. "Run ahead and inform Leliana."

 _Leliana!_

The girl takes off and the woman turns back to me. "You, on your feet. Follow him," she gestures to the boy. "And no sudden movements."

I stand slowly, keeping my gaze locked on her. I let it linger for a moment, eyes narrowed, before falling in line behind the kid. They obviously recognize me – which is a bit strange; I certainly haven't met either of them before – but this welcome doesn't feel so warm…

Single-file, we march down the hill and to a large bank of snow. The guy in front of me bends down and brushes a bit of it aside, revealing a trap door. He opens it and starts climbing down a ladder.

 _They live under the snow!_

"In you go," the woman prods. With a frown, I lower myself into the hole and follow the kid. We soon reach the bottom and I look around. It looks like a mine except, instead of rock, the walls are made out of snow. Beams and boards brace it, hold it back, though I wouldn't be surprised if a bit of magic was involved as well. The temperature is oddly comfortable, as well, and yet I see no fires.

The boy leads us down a few corridors. Down others, I can hear the sounds of life: people talking, footsteps, a cough here, a sneeze there. Eventually, we come upon a very familiar set of doors. The snow seems to be keeping the bigger doors from opening, but the smaller one within is still accessible.

We enter the chantry and I take in the differences. The side that caught the brunt of the avalanche appears to have nearly collapsed. There are signs of repair work and braces have been placed to hold up the wall. The other side looks pretty much the same as before.

I'm led to the back, to the small office on the left. The kid raps his knuckles on the door and, a moment later, Leliana's smooth accent replies with a polite, "Come in."

As the door opens, I feel a nervous sweat accumulate on my forehead. Something about this feels really not good.

Leliana's expression is unreadable. She looks as calm as the ocean after a storm. Or perhaps right before…

"So you're back," she says without preamble.

I swallow down my worry and nod. "I am."

"You should not have bothered returning," she tells me, tonelessly, as she stands from the desk and approaches.

 _They know._

 ** _Of course they know. Don't be an imbecile._**

I can't help the way my shoulders sag a little, but I try to keep my voice strong. "And yet I did."

"To aid your beloved, I suppose."

"No."

"No?" She arches one perfect eyebrow.

"I'm…" I pause to take a quick breath. "I'm here to stop him."

Leliana smiles then, but it's not a nice smile. "You will forgive me if I do not believe you."

My eyelids flutter in shock. I take a step forward, despite the sounds of bows being drawn around me. "Leliana," I plead. She narrows her eyes at me. "I didn't know. Please believe me, I swear I didn't know what he had planned."

She just hums.

"I only knew he wanted to take down the Veil. I didn't know the rest. I didn't know that he planned to…" I trail off, unable to say it.

"Kill us all?" Leliana not-so-helpfully supplies.

I duck my chin. "Yes…"

After a moment, Leliana gives a cold chuckle. "Did you think that would work?"

I look back up at her, eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Even if you were telling the truth, it is bad enough that you knew what he plans to do to the Veil and failed to inform us. It is bad enough that you knew who he was and _said nothing_." She whirls on me and gets close, eyes on fire in her stone face.

I feel myself starting to get angry. I mean, I knew they'd be pissed, but this is just ridiculous. "You knew there were personal secrets I promised not to tell," I remind her.

"Personal secrets are one thing," she argues. "Having an elven god prowling amongst the ranks without my knowledge is quite another."

"Like I told you, I thought his intentions were good!"

"You thought taking down the Veil was _good?_ " she hisses.

I huff, exasperated. "Yes! Nearly all of the problems in Thedas are caused by the Veil!"

She scoffs. "Did you even consider the consequences?"

"Of course I did! And the good outweighed the bad!"

Leliana glares at me, fingers twitches as if she wants to grab her dagger. I glare back, daring her to. "I knew we should never have trusted you," she spits, then seems to reign herself in. "But this is irrelevant. You are still the reason Fen'Harel has been able to get as far as he has. It was _you_ that saved the orb and gave it to him."

"I know!" I interrupt. "That's why I'm here! To help fix things!"

She shakes her head, looking sad for half a second before drawing her blade. "Unfortunately, you can no longer be trusted and I cannot allow you to walk free."

 _Whoa, wait, what?!_

I back up, painfully aware of the number of people in the room who are not on my side. And then it hits me and I'm swinging my bag off of my back. Leliana tenses, ready to spring, but I move quickly.

" _Unfortunately_ ," I mock, holding up a lore book. "You can't afford to get rid of me."


	6. Chapter 6

Notes: Here, have another chapter to make up for the long wait for chapter five! No OCs in this one. Also, I promise I'll answer comments soon. I was busy writing this, so I figure I'm probably forgiven.

* * *

Chapter 6: More questions than answers

I feel like I'm living in a strange igloo. The walls are nothing but compacted snow held in place by rough-hewn boards. I have to give the Inquisition credit; this is all quite clever. From the outside, no one can tell Haven is inhabited. Still, as I sit on my pile of furs, I glare at the wall for being so boring.

It's not a cell, at least. That said, Leliana has guards posted outside and I'm not allowed to leave except on her orders. I'd be lying if I said it doesn't annoy the hell out of me.

I groan loudly and fling myself backwards. Maybe the ceiling will be more interesting than the walls. Leliana only confiscated my weapons and the lore books, allowing me to keep the rest. I don't really care about the weapons at this point, but the books? I picture wringing Leliana's neck and it makes me feel a little better. I don't even know what she plans to do with them, anyway. She can't read them! No one here can. And without help, I don't see anyone being able to learn.

A few days pass and I become restless to the point of pacing my room. That is, until the door opens.

"Come with us," the guard says, gesturing that I should walk out ahead of him. Back stiff, I do as I'm told and fall in behind another guard. They lead me to Leliana's office again. The woman herself is there, leaning against the desk. She holds no expression on her face, but I smirk.

"You can't figure out how to read them, can you?"

She gives me a look and pushes off the desk. "No, it seems not."

I sigh loudly. "I told you I'd translate them for you. I'm not trying to hide anything."

"So you say." She turns her back to me and flips open one of the books. "I'm afraid your word is not worth much anymore." Then she steps aside and waves toward the desk.

I step forward and flatten out the pages of the lore book. "What do you want to know?"

"Teach me your alphabet," she instructs, moving around to sit in her chair.

For the next hour or two, I do just that, as well as helping her read a bit of the book. Then she dismisses me and I am returned to my glorified prison to stew in bitterness for a few more days. The next time I'm called upon, it's to tell her everything I know about Solas. I convey what I deem relevant and withhold the more personal details, partly out of spite and partly because I still love the man. Damn him.

And then I'm back in my cell, playing the waiting game once more.

* * *

I stroll through Haven at a leisurely pace, enjoying the calm night. The sky is clear and the stars shine brightly. I pause just to stare up at them, a serene smile on my face.

The hairs on my arms start to stand up before I actually register the feeling of being watched. Whoever it is, they are behind me. I can feel their gaze like a weight on the back of my neck. Slowly, I become aware of something else.

 _I'm dreaming…_

My eyes dart right and left, taking in my surroundings with new eyes.

 _Haven… Haven is under snow._

I'm in the old Haven, which means I'm actually in the Fade. And there's only one person who has ever been able to make me aware in my dreams.

"Hello, Rhynn."

I whirl around, eyes wide. "Solas…" I breathe, heart racing.

He gives me the slightest of smiles. Without conscious thought, I'm throwing my arms around him and kissing him. When I imagined our reunion, I pictured myself slapping him, shouting obscenities and cursing his stupidity. But now, with him standing right there in front of me for the first time in years, all I really want to do is hold him and never let go.

I hear him gasp quietly, feel him hug me tightly, and then he's… pulling away? I open my eyes to see what's wrong. Solas takes a step back, then another, and watches me with an unreadable expression. My brows furrow in confusion.

"It is good to see you again," he says politely. _Too_ politely.

I scan his face for any trace of what he's thinking. "You too," I finally whisper.

"You should not be here, though."

I blink rapidly. "What?"

"Here, in this world," he elaborates. "You need to leave, Rhynn." His tone is stern, stance unyielding, as if he can just order me away.

My eyebrows inch up my forehead. "Excuse me?"

Solas frowns slightly. "Thedas is no longer safe."

I start to understand and get a bit indignant. "Because of you."

He casts his gaze to the ground for a second before returning to my face. "Yes."

"That's actually why I'm here, Solas." Our eyes lock and hold for a long moment. "Why didn't you tell me?" I try to sound demanding, angry, but it comes out more hurt than anything.

Solas sighs and starts pacing slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "I did not think it would be relevant. Neither of us imagined you would come back. I wanted to spare you the more unpleasant details."

" _Unpleasant_?" I repeat incredulously. "I'd say committing mass genocide is a bit worse than _unpleasant_!"

Solas' eyelids flicker slightly. "It is the only way."

"Bullshit."

And now they narrow. "What would you have me do, Rhynn? You and I both know the Veil must come down. It has brought nothing but suffering and death to the world. It is my doing; I must set things right."

I sigh, watching him sadly. "I know, but do so many people have to die? I don't understand, Solas. Why do all these people have to _die_?"

He won't look at me now as he pauses mid-stride. "They will not survive the chaos."

"That tells me nothing!" I make a noise of frustration and step closer. Solas moves away. "What is that supposed to mean? Will there be a ton of demons? Are the Evanuris going to go on slaughtering sprees? _What?_ "

Solas just shakes his head, still not looking at me.

"God damn it, Solas! Talk to me!" I lunge forward and grab his shoulders, shaking him slightly. I'm a bit surprised when he reciprocates the touch, bringing his hands up to cup my face. He presses our foreheads together as he strokes my cheeks with his thumbs.

" _Ma vhenan…_ " he whispers. " _Please_ , you need to go. Leave this world, go somewhere safe."

"I can't let you do this, Solas," I tell him, a quiet promise.

"I know," he sighs, and then he's kissing _me_. One all-too-short, passionate, and horribly desperate kiss before he's pulling away again.

The last thing I see is a pair of glistening grey-blue eyes and then I'm waking up, sitting bolt upright in my pile of furs. I take only a few moments to collect myself before springing for the door and pounding on it.

"Leliana!" I shout, voice hoarse with sleep. The guards by the door startle and whip around to gape at me. "Leliana!"

"Quiet down," one of them barks.

"No," I growl. "Get me Leliana."

"It is the middle of the night," the guard argues.

"I don't give a fuck!" I take a deep breath and start up again, "Leliana!"

The two guards look at each other, then one of them suddenly shouts, "Not it!"

"To the Void with you, Henry," the other one mutters and trudges off down the hall.

Satisfied, I quiet down for the time being and instead start pacing my tiny room. A short while later, the guard comes back and grudgingly escorts me to Leliana's office. As soon as I see her, I lurch forward and lean over the desk.

"I just saw Solas."

The redhead's eyebrows rise. "In the Fade?"

"Yes."

"Were you able to learn anything about his whereabouts or his plans?"

I frown. "No. He's very good at avoiding questions." Leliana opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off. "Don't you see, though? I still have a connection to him! If I can get him to visit again, I might be able to gather some information."

"Or you could feed him information."

I slam my hands down on her desk, rattling the trinkets and ink pots. "God damn it! I've had enough! I'm not on his side and I'm not a spy. I made it home, Leliana. To Earth! When I found out what is supposed to happen, I wanted so badly to come back and stop it that I left my _home_ and my _family_ after only a few weeks! I could've gone anywhere, could've stayed with my brother and his wife and daughter. Could've gotten to know my best friend again! But I came _here._ And I freely offered my knowledge to _you_. So either you cut the bullshit and _work with me_ or I take my information to someone who will listen!" I grip the edge of her desk, fingernails digging into the wood, as I pant and glare.

Leliana smiles.

"What the _fuck_ are you smiling at?!" I can feel my eye twitching. Then something clicks. "You were waiting for me to crack, weren't you?"

She hums and continues to smile.

"Oh my God," I groan, standing straight and rubbing my hands over my face.

"I suspected your intentions were pure from the beginning, but I had to know for sure," she explains, fingers clasped under her chin.

"Go fuck yourself, Leliana."

She just chuckles and stands. "I've had your books transcribed. You may have them back." She hands me all three of my lore books. I take them, still in shock and not a little bit pissed off. "I also sent word to the others that you've returned. The Iron Bull and his Chargers were already here, but Aila, Cullen, and Cole just arrived recently. You are free to move about Haven unguarded now."

I nod. After a short pause, I ask, "Do you have any leads on where Solas might be hiding?"

She examines me with a critical eye. "Some, but none of them are very promising."

I nod again.

"Now, if you don't mind, I would very much like to go back to sleep," she teases. "I'll have you escorted to a better room though, hmm?"

True to her word, I am led to a room with an actual bed and whatnot. Despite this, I never go back to sleep. Instead, I spend the rest of the night poring over the lore books again.

* * *

I can hear Haven waking up outside my door. Over the past hour, the amount of footsteps, voices, and pot-clanging has increased drastically. When my stomach gives a half-hearted growl, I decide to wander out in search of food.

It's strange, not having a guard or two escorting me. Funny how a person can get used to that after only two weeks.

I follow my nose, scenting hints of meat and fresh-baked bread on the air currents. Soon, I enter a large space filled with tables. On the far side, I see men and women tending fires and cooking. Oddly, I see no smoke.

 _How are they doing that?_

"Magic."

I gasp and lash out instinctively. Luckily, Cole flits out of the way.

"Shit!" I exclaim, hand going to my mouth. "Sorry!"

"Missed me," Cole says, a small smile visible from beneath the hat. He tilts his head up so I can see his cloudy blue eyes.

I smile back. "You know better than to sneak up on me."

Cole's smile dissolves and a wrinkle appears on his forehead. "You see the shadows slither and slide, ready to strike. Nothing, nowhere, and no one is safe. You are the shadows, more than before."

I frown, looking down at my feet. "Yeah… it's been a rough few years."

"You're also the light," Cole says, smile returning. "Your family was happy to see you."

I can feel my expression soften. "I was happy to see them, too."

"I'm sorry about your father. The jacket suits you, though."

His words hold more weight than a simple compliment should. I glance up, but he's already gone. Shaking my head, I move further into the room.

"Well, well," a booming voice calls from my left. "Look who's here!"

I blush as every eye in the room falls on me. Bull just grins and leans back in his chair, beckoning me over. I roll my eyes and head for his table. The Chargers take up the rest of it, but Bull pulls up a chair next to his and waves me into it. Then he claps me on the back and shoves a mug of ale into my hands. I just sit there and blink at him.

He chuckles. "Drink up!"

 _It's like 7 A.M., Bull…_

I narrow my eyes at him. "What, just like that? No suspicion?"

He laughs outright. "Always knew you were hiding something big. Didn't know it was something _this_ big, but still." He locks his eye with one of mine. "You're carrying around a lot of guilt, but you're also pissed. That means he didn't tell you everything." He leans in. "Keep that anger. You're going to need it." Then he settles back into his chair and continues to eat.

"If you knew that, why did Leliana have me locked in a room for weeks?" I can't help the tetchiness of my tone.

Bull snorts. "Red was just angry you kept her out of the loop, wanted a bit of revenge."

I mutter curses as I get up and head for the food line. The Iron Bull just laughs.

Halfway through my plate, someone taps softly on my shoulder. I glance over it to find Aila and Cullen and quickly stand to greet them.

"Rhynn, good to see you again," Aila says, sticking her right hand out. I offer mine and we clasp forearms. It's then that I notice her left arm – or what remains of it. I quickly hide my frown.

I'd read that the Inquisitor loses their arm, but seeing it is different. This is someone I know… someone I grew to care for.

"Red probably didn't tell you," Bull suddenly interjects, "but these two are married now."

I smile brightly at them. "Congratulations!"

Both of them return my smile and say thank you. Then Cullen excuses himself and goes to sit with the Chargers while Aila pulls me aside.

"I never thought I'd see your face again," she states wryly.

"Maybe not the most welcome news?" I hedge.

She snorts. "Let's just say I'm not sure how to feel about it."

"Fair enough," I shrug. I glance down quickly at her left side. "I'm… sorry about your arm. I didn't know that would happen. I would've told you if I did."

Aila's eyes dart away. "He would have taken it either way. Really, he was doing me a favor. It would have killed me otherwise."

"He's also the reason it happened in the first place," I remind her. "Don't let him off so easy."

"I know," she sighs. "It's just… I know the two of you were very close, but he was my friend too. I thought… I thought I knew him better than that."

"Me too," I whisper, studying her. This isn't the confident woman I remember. To me, she appears smaller… broken. "Has Dagna made you anything?" I prompt, gesturing toward the stump of her left arm.

Aila's face lights up at that. "Oh, yes! She's made me all sorts of contraptions, both magical and not." Her smile turns fond. "She is such a kind woman."

"Yeah, she is," I agree.

"She and Sera are together now," Aila supplies.

"Really?" I exclaim, smile growing. "That's… that's really good to hear. I can see how they'd fit together."

"Actually, it's a bit frightening to be in the same room as them," Aila laughs. "I'm always worried something's going to blow up or I'm going to find a bug in my ale."

I laugh with her, just picturing it. As our mirth subsides, Aila's expression turns serious once more.

"When you're done eating, I'd appreciate it if you'd meet me in Leliana's office. We have much to discuss."

I nod.

 _Indeed we do._


	7. Chapter 7

Notes: Hey look! Not an _entire_ month between updates! Hallelujah!

The OC mentioned in this chapter belongs to sirius123. You will be seeing a lot of Altan in the future.

If you celebrate it, have a happy and safe 4th! Don't blow any body parts off, all right? If you don't celebrate, have a happy and safe Monday…? Sure, we'll go with that.

0w0Arr and LOVE THIS STORY: Thank you!

* * *

Chapter 7: The start of a plan

There's something both comforting and frustrating about being in a room full of arguing Thedosians again. I never had access to the Haven war room before, but it still brings about a sense of nostalgia. That sliver of familiarity is probably the only thing keeping me from lashing out. The arguments have become circuitous and it's grating on my nerves. I want to beg them to assign me something, to let me help _somehow_ , because doing nothing will definitely kill me.

 _And now I'm being melodramatic._

In an attempt to calm down and re-center, I let the voices fade and lose myself in my thoughts.

I've been summarily filled in on the events of the past few years. _We defeated an Avaar god, went inside a Titan, and stopped a Qunari invasion. What have you been up to?_ As if an elven god hell-bent on bringing about Ragnarok wasn't enough.

Speaking of, Solas has apparently gained a lot of support. By Leliana's estimation, he most likely has an entire army of elves at his disposal. I have to wonder what he needs with an army. I don't have to wonder how he pulled them all in. He's certainly done so before and I'm sure many elves were keen to leave behind their poor living conditions for the promise of _more_.

I've been told there's unrest everywhere. People have a vague idea of what's happening and they've taken that sliver of knowledge and run with it. Rumors abound and, predictably, nobody seems to be handling it well. Panic has started to sink its claws in and nothing good could come of that.

"… you think, Rhynn?"

I blink, drawn out of my thoughts at the sound of my name. "Huh?"

"What do you think?" Aila asks. When I continue to just stare at her, she rolls her eyes and adds, "The Blight. Do you have any information?"

I hesitate, rocking on my heels and looking at each of them in turn. "Are you sure you want to know?"

Aila looks incredulous. "Of course! We need all the information we can get. Why would we not want to know?"

"Because what I have to say contradicts a major part of your religion."

Aila pauses, contemplating, before she nods.

I wipe a hand over my mouth, a bit nervous. "I wasn't able to do a ton of research while I was home, but from what I could find, it seems like Titans are the source."

The others look at each other and then at me. "You mean to say it wasn't Tevinter Magisters?" Cullen finally asks.

"No… Perhaps they helped spread the Blight, but they were never the cause."

Everyone but Bull and Cole look shocked and a bit lost. I suppose anyone would be after having their faith shaken.

"It sings, but no one answers," Cole murmurs quietly.

 _But why does no one answer?_ We lock eyes and I know he heard. Before he can answer, though, Aila speaks up again.

"Okay," she says and takes a deep breath. "Okay. We can work with that. Anything else? Maybe how to cure it?" she asks hopefully.

"I'm afraid not…"

"That's fine. It's more than we had before." She looks distressed, however, stretched thin. She looks at Leliana. "Any luck finding Solas?"

The former spymaster shakes her head sadly. "Still no, I'm afraid. And it doesn't appear we will find him any time soon."

I frown. I expected such, but it's still frustrating. _If I could only talk to him…_

"Then what can we do?" I ask. "There have to be things we can do in the meantime." _Please!_

"What about Orlais?" Cullen suggests. "They must be reigned in."

At my confused look, Aila adds, "They've started targeting Dalish clans."

I make a disgusted noise and curl my lip. Aila solemnly nods in agreement.

"Let's not forget Tevinter," Bull says, crossing his large arms.

"Tevinter?" I inquire, knowing a good portion of the fourth game supposedly took place there.

"Magisters have begun sacrificing their slaves _en masse_ for the sake of powerful protection spells," Leliana explains. "Dorian keeps us informed as best he can and continues to try to be the voice of reason, along with a group of supporters, but it is not enough."

"Send me there," I demand.

Leliana and Aila share a look. Aila shrugs. "Cullen and I could travel to Orlais, try to garner support."

"Maryden and I can go with you," Cole offers and Aila agrees, thanking him.

 _Maryden?_ Cole just smiles.

Leliana fixes me under her stare. "You cannot just walk right into Tevinter." _One does not simply walk into Mordor._ "We will need a plan. Allow me to contact Dorian and we will discuss this again soon."

I nod, even though I feel like crawling out of my skin at the thought of waiting.

As if noticing my state, Leliana then says, "In the meantime, let me show you to the clinic."

* * *

A long, uneventful week passes wherein I sleep very little. And when I do, my dreams are nothing but flashes of color and smudged images. I no longer feel as if I'm being watched. I'm not sure how to feel about it.

Reintegrating with the others is… strange. None of them seem outwardly upset with me, but there's an underlying tension I can't dismiss. I don't blame them… not really. But I decide it's probably best if I spend most of my time alone. Cole is the exception, of course. I think he knew about Solas, too. It makes me feel better until I realize we may be the only two who are worried about Solas himself. Aila might, but she seems… preoccupied.

I mostly stay in my room and read or help out in the clinic. We're not allowed on the surface except on sanctioned patrols and there's nothing sanctioned about me. Cole comes to visit a few times. Well, when I say visit I mean he appears randomly, usually scaring the shit out of me. We talk some, as much as it's possible to have a coherent conversation with the spirit boy. He tells me about Maryden, though, and their travels together, about the people they've helped. He seems happy; it's nice to hear.

It seems like an eternity before another meeting is called. I nearly pounce on Leliana when she enters.

"Any word from Dorian?" I ask eagerly.

She gives me a look reminiscent of a patient mother. It looks weird on her angular face. "Yes, and a plan for getting you into the country has been put in place."

I nod and lean forward, waiting impatiently for her to continue.

"Dorian has a contact from the Imperium that is willing to take you on as his… bodyguard."

I frown. "Slave bodyguard?"

She shakes her head delicately. "No. There will be no need for you to pose as a slave. We have others in place for that task." She pushes a few pieces of parchment towards me. At a glance, they seem to be information regarding someone named –

"Altan Aubericus," Leliana says, gesturing toward the paper in my hand. "Dorian's contact. A mage of the Laetan class with holdings of adequate size. He arrived in Fereldan a few years ago but is readying for his return to Tevinter. It would not be unusual for him to return with a few more slaves and a new bodyguard."

I start to smile.

"As his bodyguard, you will have freedoms my agents will not. While my people are confined to their roles as slaves, they may gather information from behind the scenes. Under dire circumstances, they may even be able to run interference. However, _you_ will have nearly unlimited access to the upper classes of Tevinter society. Wherever Aubericus goes, you follow. We have very little information about the situation over there. The most we can do is get you in as safely as possible. From there, it is up to you to assess the situation and relay whatever details you can gather. Unfortunately, communication will be limited. We can contact neither you nor Dorian easily without raising suspicion or risking our letters being intercepted. Understood?"

I tamp down my grin and nod solemnly. "Understood. When do I leave?"

"In three days," Leliana responds. "You will first travel to Kirkwall and meet with Varric. He knows a ship captain who is willing to take you to Tevinter and remain on standby once there."

 _A ship captain, hmm? I wonder…_

"Sounds like a plan," I say, unable to fully contain my smile at the thought of finally _doing something._

Leliana smirks back, "The start of one."

Cullen suddenly makes a choking noise from the other side of the table and I glance over to find him turning bright red and staring in horror at a page of one of the lore books. I look closer and nearly choke myself. It's a lovingly detailed sketch of a penis in Sharpie, complete with pubic hair, veins, and all.

 _Oh God, Trix. Why._

* * *

Three days later, I'm packed and ready to go. Leliana finally gave me my weapons back and I have them strapped tight to my body and hidden under my dad's leather jacket. I'm leaving my more conspicuous clothing items behind. Well, most of them anyway. My Firefly shirt is tucked away safely at the bottom of my bag. Just in case. I'm also leaving my lore books behind for Leliana to use. I've read them so many times now, anyway, I have them practically memorized.

I say my goodbyes to Bull and Aila, give Cole an awkward hug. Cullen and Leliana both nod and wish me luck in their own way.

As I'm climbing on my horse, I remember something. "Leliana, where's my violin?" I ask, already suspecting the answer.

A dark look passes over her face. "It _was_ in my possession, but…"

"Solas," I finish for her. She nods, glaring into the distance. "Find him, Leliana," I say fiercely and we lock eyes, silently communicating our mutual determination. "I would very much like my stuff back."

The journey from the mountains to the ocean takes days. There are a few people from Haven travelling with me. They're simply guides, though, and will leave me at the docks.

The trip is uneventful and soon enough I'm boarding a ship bound for Kirkwall. It's strange, knowing I'll be setting foot in the fabled city. It's sure to look next to nothing like the game, but I wonder if it will seem familiar all-the-same? I'm also looking forward to seeing Varric again. While interaction with the others has become awkward, I know the friendly dwarf will be nothing but welcoming.

Ship travel in Thedas is less than ideal. By that I mean it's fucking awful. I spend the first few days puking my guts out. Nights are spent in a mild state of paranoia as I huddle against the wall in a room full of strangers and drift in and out of consciousness. Leliana sent some food with me, but my only choice for protein is basically meat-flavored salt. Fuck Thedas and its fear of magic. A preservation spell would take way less time and I could be eating something that actually tastes edible. Let's just say I rely a little too much on my ration packs, which I cram into my mouth quickly in the darkest corner I can find, lest someone see and demand that I share. By the time we reach Kirkwall, I've become desensitized to my own rancid smell; probably to all smells in general.

I'm on the upper deck when the guy in the crow's nest first spots land. The call has me sighing with relief.

 _Finally!_

A little while later, I can finally see it. Kirkwall. As we get closer, I take in the different levels of the city. _Hightown, Lowtown… what were the others?_ It looks like they've built a new chantry where the previous one used to be. It sits like an angel on top of a squat, fat Christmas tree, gleaming in the evening sun. I lose sight of it as we near the docks. Then I see only the brown of dirt walls and unwashed locals. Amongst this, Varric is like a beacon in his red velvet shirt.

I can't contain my smile when I see him. _God, it's been too long._

I wait impatiently for our small ship to dock and for the crewmen to lay down the gangplank. I'm the first off. My backpack is my only possession and I keep it with me at all times. I hurry down the dock toward Varric, a big smile on my face. There's some guy standing next to him, but I don't care at the moment.

"Varric, you beautiful bastard! You're a sight for sore eyes!" I throw my arms out, getting ready to hug the shit out of him.

"Welcome to Kirkwall, Torpin," he greets, but something's wrong. _Torpin? Not Princess?_ He's stepping back and the smile he gives me is too tight… forced.

 _No… Not him, too._

After a painful second, I let my arms drop. My smile stays in place, but it's forced now too.

"Follow me," Varric says. "You'll be staying in The Hanged Man, laying low until our Tevinter friend shows up."

 _Straight to business, then. Okay, I can do that._

"And when will that be?"

He shrugs. "Sometime this week."

"Very specific," I mumble and follow the rest of the way in silence. I get that not telling everyone about a secret elven god was a bit shitty, but I never expected Varric to act this way. I blink rapidly and put on my best apathetic face.

We walk a fairly short distance and then we're there… at The Hanged Man. _The_ Hanged Man. I have to pause just inside the door to take it all in. It actually looks quite a bit like I remember, right down to the ominous bloodstains on the floor. Thank goodness video games don't include Smell-O-Vision, though, because _shit biscuits_ this place reeks!

The act of plugging my nose and gagging pulls a small smile out of Varric, at least. "You'll get used to the smell," he assures. To prove his point, he takes a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh of mock-contentment. Then he waves over a woman carrying a mug in each hand. "Norah here can show you to your room. I've got a meeting to attend." He groans quietly, rubbing a hand over his face and leaving me with the woman.

"Let me just deliver these drinks first," she says and walks off to a table in the corner. Then she beckons me to follow and heads up the stairs.

The fist room at the top is Varric's, if I recall. The door is closed and I wonder if he still spends much time here or if his new job keeps him away.

 _Varric the Viscount. Weird._

"Here we are, love," Norah announces, gesturing toward a door at the end of the hall.

"Thanks," I say, pushing it open. When I glance back, she's already gone. Fine by me. I'm not exactly feeling like company anymore.

I sigh and walk into the room only to freeze in place.

 _Is that…?_

Sitting smack dab in the center of the room is a big copper tub with water in it. Steam rises off of it and swirls up toward the high ceiling. I don't even question it. I just toss my bag on the bed and start ripping my clothes off like a mad woman before quickly climbing into the tub and sinking below the surface.

 _Oh fuck yes._

I'm like a snake shedding its skin with the way the grime sloughs off of me in the hot water. It feels phenomenal and I start to relax in spite of myself. I notice a bar of soap on the floor next to me. I scoop it up and start scrubbing. As I wash, I wonder about this lovely surprise. I doubt it comes standard with a room at The Hanged Man. This doesn't seem like a continental-breakfast-type establishment. So that implies someone ordered it for me and the list of suspects isn't long.

 _Maybe not all hope is lost._ I smile a little.

Still, things aren't exactly great right now. I mean, I didn't expect sunshine and rainbows, but… my friends don't trust me anymore, my friends-with-benefits-turned-love-of-my-life is trying to destroy the world, and people are being stupid fucks about it (no surprise there).

 _And now I'm grumpy again._

* * *

Awareness that I'm dreaming and that someone is standing behind me come simultaneously. I don't have to turn around to know who it is.

"Kirkwall?" he asks, voice giving nothing away.

"Keeping tabs, are we?" I snipe.

"What are you doing, Rhynn?" he tries instead.

I turn around to find him standing much closer than I expected. It sends a frisson of… something up my spine. "Why should I tell you?" I lift an eyebrow and run my eyes over him. He's dressed in his hobo apostate garb. Something tells me that's not how he dresses for his _troops_ , though.

"What do you hope to accomplish in Kirkwall?"

"An answer for an answer," I challenge. "Tell me where you are and I'll tell you what I'm up to."

Solas and I narrow our eyes at each other.

"Why must you be so stubborn?" His hands clench at his sides.

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. "Oh, _I'm_ the stubborn one?"

His expression turns hard. "This is not your fight, Rhynn."

I jut my chin out, blood beginning to boil. "You _made_ it my fight!"

He makes a sound of frustration and turns, pacing a few steps away and pausing with his back to me. "Please, just leave, Rhynn," he begs, almost inaudible.

I sigh. "Solas… even if I wanted to, I can't. Not until the buzzing starts."

He looks back at that. "I assumed…"

"That because I made it back here, then I must be in control of my fabulous superpowers?" I finish for him. "Yeah, no."

His expression looks pinched before he quickly glances away. "I see."

"Do you?" I scoff. "Because I don't think you do." I pause, considering. "I made it home, Solas," I admit quietly.

He blinks at me, obviously a bit shocked.

"My dad's dead."

"I'm – "

"Shut up. My dad's dead, but my brother is still alive. He has a wife and a daughter now and they're really goddamn happy. They were even happier to have me back. _I_ was happy! But then my friend tells me you plan to kill a bunch of _people,_ so I haul my ass back here. Not just because I care about the _people_ you plan to murder, but because I care about you, you asshole! I left my home and family behind to help _you_! Just keep that in mind as you get ready to end the lives of millions of _people_. Because that's what they are, Solas. _People._ And they have the same right to life as you do."

And then I wrench myself forcefully out of my own dream and into the waking world, wanting to leave _him_ frustrated and confused for once.


	8. Chapter 8

Notes: We're getting into the good stuff now, people! You can tell because I'm giving you your second chapter of the week. Yeah, I'm a bit excited.

On a rather embarrassing note, I totally spaced and forgot _someone_ needed to be Divine. I wanted Leliana to be Divine for this story, so let's just say she's on leave right now… from her job… as Divine… yeah… *coughs* Anyway, I'll try to cover up my little mistake in the story. Eventually.

Thank you for all the amazing comments! I live for them, so please keep them coming! *smiles winningly*

* * *

Chapter 8: Everybody's Sassy

I can't go back to sleep after the encounter with Solas. I spend the next few hours cleaning and maintaining my weapons. By the time I finish, I can hear sounds emanating from the floor below. My stomach joins in with a loud growl and I decide to head down in search of food. I have a bit of currency that Leliana sent with me. All the money I had before I left was repossessed, so she kind of owes me anyway.

There are only a few people in the bar, not including the bartender and waitress. I walk up to the counter and order some food. The man behind it grunts, rustles around for a minute, then sets a bowl of… something in front of me. I hand over some money and thank him, trying not to curl my lip at the questionably edible grey slop.

I wander over to a table in the corner and sit down to eat. The first spoonful has me gagging.

"You'll need this," the waitress – _Norah, right?_ – says and sets a mug in front of me. I go to thank her, but she's already gone. I take a quick gulp of the drink, trying to wash out the taste. With a quiet groan, I plug my nose and try again with the 'food.'

I'm so focused on trying to keep my meal down that I don't notice when a new person walks into The Hanged Man.

"Wine," a deep, very familiar voice sounds from across the room. My head shoots up and my mouth falls open just a little.

 _Is that…? Holy shit! That's Fenris!_

A lanky, white-haired elf grabs the bottle the bartender hands him and stalks over to the only unoccupied corner. I watch him go, still gaping like a fish, and take note of the changes. His armor is different, like an updated version of the set I remember from the game. There is still an exorbitant amount of spikes, but swaths of cloth have been added. However, any softness this might have given him is cancelled out by the stormy look on his face. His hair is slightly longer now and pulled back from his face with a tie, the underside cropped close to the scalp. And, though the lyrium tattoos have obviously not changed, they look so much more… vivid in real life.

Fenris sits so he can see the whole room. His eyes dart from patron to patron. When they land on me, they narrow slightly.

 _Stop staring, you tit! You're probably freaking him out!_

There's a faint tint to my cheeks as I quickly avert my gaze to my food, plug my nose, and take another bite. I shudder as I swallow and hurry to chase it down with ale. Unbidden, my eyes flicker over to the other corner once more.

Where Fenris is watching me like a hawk.

 _Abort! Abort!_

I look away again as fast as I can.

 _Well, shit._

I finish off my bowl while silently panicking. I really don't want a hand through the chest. I should probably go over and introduce myself now, so he doesn't think I'm here for some nefarious purpose.

I grab my ale and head over there. Fenris' eyes narrow even further and he visibly tenses.

I clear my throat awkwardly. "Um, hey. I'm Rhynn. I know Varric… and Hawke, too, I suppose." I stick out my hand. He doesn't shake it, but recognition flickers across his face.

"Ah… hello." He sounds relieved. But then we kind of just stare at one another, unsure of what to do or say.

"May I sit?" I ask, attempting politeness. Fenris waves a hand at the chair across from him and takes a swig of wine straight from the bottle. "Isn't it a bit early to be drinking wine?" I joke.

He shrugs. I clear my throat again and fiddle with my mug.

"I'm surprised to see you here," I try again.

"Why?" he asks, suspicious once more.

"Well, I just… I mean, I thought you'd prefer drinking in solitude," I hurry to explain. This only seems to make it worse, though, judging by his expression. I can't blame him. I imagine it's probably a bit unnerving having a relative stranger making assumptions about your preferences.

After a few uncomfortable moments, he finally replies. "There's no more wine in the house."

"None?" I ask, surprised. "We are talking about the Amell Estate, right? I imagine there's a whole cellar full of the stuff."

He's still looking at me strangely, which… yeah, okay, I get it. I really need to stop talking to him like I know him. I do, in a way, but it's creepy.

"Like I said," he drawls. "No more wine."

I chuckle and adopt a really bad British accent. "Good Lord, Fenris, did you drink it all?"

He just scowls at me.

I try to look serious. "No really, _did_ you drink it all?"

"Possibly."

"I think attending an AA meeting would do you a lot of good," I tease, then take a sip of my morning ale to be ironic.

He's still scowling. "What?"

"Don't worry about it."

"You are very strange," he remarks. My only response is a smirk.

We lapse into a not uncomfortable silence. Surprisingly, it's Fenris who speaks first, wine half gone already.

"You were with Hawke," he starts, not looking at me. "In the Fade."

I grin. "Is there a question in there?"

He glares at his wine bottle. "I… just…" He makes a disgruntled noise. "That was… good. What you did." He takes a breath. "I know Hawke would have insisted on staying if you… if you hadn't."

It's my turn to be awkward now, apparently. I blush and stare at my own drink, rubbing at my forearm. "Yeah, well…" I shrug.

I glance up at Fenris and am suddenly struck with an idea. Here's this elf, this former slave; someone who escaped on his own, killed his master, and made a name for himself. And here I am, a human with no experience as a slave. Thank God, of course, but it also means I'm not relatable to that demographic… to the people I'm going to Tevinter to try to help. What reason would they have to trust me? But if I had Fenris with me… _the_ Fenris…

"Fenris?" He looks up at me. "Has Varric told you why I'm here?"

"I…" he hesitates, "I haven't spoken to Varric in some time."

I wonder why, but I stop myself from asking. Instead, I glance around as inconspicuously as possible before leaning in. Fenris cocks his head slightly, possibly in curiosity. "I'm headed for Tevinter."

"For what reason?" he hisses.

"Elven servants have started abandoning their posts. It seems some citizens have become concerned their… property… might try to do the same." Fenris' expression hardens. I continue, "That's not all."

"Of course not," he mutters bitterly.

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors about Fen'Harel?"

"The ones where he's amassing a large army that he plans to use against the humans or the ones where you're his lover?" Fenris taunts.

I roll my eyes. "The first one. It's making people really nervous. Nervous enough to sacrifice their elven slaves for the protection of blood magic."

"Magisters sacrifice their slaves all the time."

"Not in these numbers."

Fenris and I share a look.

"Get on with it," he growls. When I frown, he adds, "You're obviously leading up to something. Just say it."

I take a deep breath and blow it back out. "Before I say anything else, just know that it's completely up to you."

He raises an expectant and slightly mocking eyebrow.

"I could really use your help over there."

If I blinked, I would've missed the tiny flinch Fenris does at that. Otherwise, his expression remains impassive.

"If I remember correctly, you're something of a legend in Tevinter. Magisters fear you and slaves idolize you. Me? I'm a free human. I'm going to have a really hard time gaining trust and I have a feeling time is of the essence. Just having you there would go a long way, I think." I stop and wait.

Fenris blinks rapidly and looks away. "I… don't know if…"

"I'm not asking for a decision right now," I assure. "It'll take a few days to get everything ready once the others arrive."

"Others?"

"An upper class Tevinter mage is going to help sneak myself and some others into the country."

"As slaves." Fenris' hands tighten on the edge of the table, gauntlets digging into the wood.

My eyes dart between his hands and face. "They won't actually be slaves. It's just a cover. And I'll be acting as the guy's bodyguard."

He leans forward, expression livid. "And me? Am I to _act_ as a slave?"

I hold his gaze steadily. "Of course not, Fenris. Despite the fact that I'd never do that, it wouldn't be possible. You're too high-profile."

The lithe elf suddenly stands.

"What – "

"I've had enough wine," he says without turning around as he stalks toward the exit.

 _Well, so much for that…_

Varric walks in just as Fenris is leaving. Fenris shoulders right past without even acknowledging Varric. The dwarf spots me and heads over with a smirk on his face.

"I see you've met Broody. Mid-sulk, too, it looks like."

"Actually, I invited him to come with me," I explain.

Varric's eyebrows raise. "Yeah, that would do it. Do you really think that's the best choice, though? I doubt you could stop him if he suddenly got the urge to rip out a few magister hearts."

I snort. "That might be just what we need."

There's an odd pause before Varric clears his throat. " _Your_ magister just arrived. He's at the keep if you want to meet him."

"He's not a magister…"

Varric shrugs. "Close enough."

I chew on my lip for a second. "Hey Varric? Can we talk?"

He steps back and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I've got a lot to do. Maybe later."

"Yeah… okay," I slump down in my seat.

 _Maybe it wasn't him who ordered the bathtub…?_

Varric goes upstairs, probably to grab something, before leaving. I finish off my ale and watch him go.

 _You're lucky you're worth it, Solas._

* * *

The man standing in front of the fireplace is a lot less foreboding than I imagined. His back is to me, so I cannot see his face, but he looks to be about my age. He stands a bit taller than me and his skin is olive-toned and unblemished. His dark brown hair would probably be shoulder-length if it weren't tied up with a ribbon. It is a faded purple, slightly frayed at the ends. The accessory stands out amongst the rest of his pristine clothing. His posture is stiff, shoulders back, one wrist clasped in the opposite hand and resting at the base of his spine.

"Altan Aubericus?" I ask, softly so as not to startle him.

He turns and nods quite formally at me. His features are unexpectedly... pretty. "Yes, and you must be Rhynnara." He holds his hand out.

"Just Rhynn, please," I reply, clasping his hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Rhynn. Join me?" He waves a hand at a small spread of bread, cheese, and fruit.

My eyes widen and I smile. "Don't mind if I do." I settle into one of the chairs and wait for him to claim the other before digging in.

 _Real food!_ My stomach gives a happy grumble.

Altan watches me, bemused, before taking a bite of his own food. He's much more polite about it. "Shall we skip the pleasantries and get right to business?"

"Sounds good." I shove three grapes into my mouth at once.

"My sister and I have property on the outskirts of Minrathous. We own a small number of slaves. It should be no trouble getting you and your people in under the guise of acquiring more." He says this like it's totally normal to own people. Which, for him, I suppose it is.

"I may have thrown a little wrench in the plan…"

"Oh?"

"Do you know the name Fenris?"

Altan looks thoughtful, then his eyes alight with recognition. "Is that the slave that killed Danarius?"

"He's not a slave any longer, but yes. I've invited him along."

His eyebrows raise. "Why, might I ask?"

"Having him with us could go a long way towards earning the trust of certain people," I reply, taking a sip of the probably-expensive wine in my glass.

"Not the magisters, certainly," he chuckles.

"I'm not talking about the magisters," I correct, not sharing his amusement. Altan seems surprised at that, glancing away for a second, uncertainty showing in the tightness around his eyes.

"How exactly do you plan on getting him in?" he asks, leaning forward. "They'll inspect the ship as soon as we arrive."

I do give a slight smile at that. "I have a feeling the ship's captain knows a thing or two about smuggling."

Altan looks confused, but doesn't ask. Instead, he says, "You may find it difficult to talk to slaves that are not my own. Not without raising suspicion."

I make a face. "Yeah… I'll admit, I don't have much of a plan just yet. I need to see what I have to work with first. I'm sure you've been informed that I need to be in a position that allows me to observe."

He nods. "Yes, as my bodyguard. I was the one to suggest it."

"Ah. Good." I shift in my seat. "Do you attend a lot of social events?"

"Some, but I'll have just returned from a long trip. Surely I'll want to reacquaint myself with society," he says with a secretive smile. I return it.

* * *

I know that I'm supposed to lay low at The Hanged Man, but if I spend one more second holed up in my room I'm going to scream. I decide a walk would help and slip out the door.

It's midday and hot out. The sun beats down on the dusty streets of Lowtown, washing them out from a brown to a light tan. Vendors line the sides, calling out to passerby. I wander from stall to stall, looking over each with a critical eye. A few things catch my eye – weapons, mostly – but not enough to spend the little money I have.

One stall in particular holds my attention. It's a book stand, which strikes me as unusual for Lowtown. I approach and the woman on the other side gives me a polite smile.

"Hello, miss. Looking for anything in particular?"

"Just looking," I mumble, a reflex response from long ago days on Earth. I reach out and run my fingers over the titles. There's a wide assortment; biographies, compendiums, historical records, fiction and non-fiction. A good number of them are by Varric, though that's not really surprising.

I move closer to where the woman is standing. There's a book on display right in front of her, stacks of the same to either side. There's a diagram on the front and the closer I get, the more familiar it becomes.

 _That's mine! That's one of my drawings!_

I snatch a book up and stare at it in disbelief. When I turn it to see the spine, that disbelief becomes shock.

 _Healing Without Magic: The Compiled Teachings of Rhynnara Lorelae Torpin arranged by Varric Tethras._

"You son of a bitch," I say softly, fondly, and press a hand to my mouth as if that will keep the tears at bay. It doesn't.

I start thumbing through the book. It has everything; my notes, renditions of my drawings, transcripts of my lectures – _how did he even get those?_ – with little anecdotes from Varric here and there. It's perfect.

"That's the newest book from Varric Tethras," the woman says, having noticed my interest. "Bit different from his usual stuff. Seemed important to him, though."

I look up at her, curious. "Why do you say that?"

She looks sheepish, but leans over the counter and whispers, "He paid me to have it displayed."

 _Varric, I'm going to hug the hell out of you!_

I pull out my coin purse. "How much for a copy?"

* * *

I burst into the viscount's office, wielding The Book. "Varric, you glorious bastard!"

Varric blinks, looking shocked. He recovers quickly. "Please, do come in," he says sarcastically.

I slam the book down on his desk. "Varric Tethras, what is _this_?!"

His eyes slide up from his desk to my face. "That's a book."

"Don't be sassy with me," I chide, but I'm smiling. "Stand up!"

He narrows his eyes. "Why…?"

"Because I'm going to hug you, that's why!"

Varric rolls his eyes but stands anyway. I round the desk, fall to my knees, and wrap my arms around his waist.

Varric scoffs. "I'm not _that_ short."

"I know." I squeeze tighter. "It just seemed more dramatic this way." After a couple seconds, Varric hugs back. "Thank you," I whisper. "And I'm sorry."

We both pull back. Varric's expression is wary. I stand and perch on the edge of the desk while Varric sits back down in his chair.

I rub at my forearm. "I really am, you know. I never meant to hurt anyone." I look up to find him watching me. I can't hold his gaze. "As far as I was concerned, it wasn't my secret to tell. I was leaving and I didn't think I'd ever make it back. I figured the truth would come out after I left, but it wouldn't matter because I'd be gone and none of you would have to see me again. I didn't know what he had planned, I swear." I give him a pleading look. "Please, you have to believe me. I would have said something if I'd known."

Varric drops his head, sighs, then lifts it again. "I believe you."

I can't help the soft smile that spreads across my face. "Okay." Then, to lighten the mood, "I don't know if I can forgive you for the horrible thing you've done, though."

Varric raises a quizzical eyebrow.

I point to the book. "You used my full name!"

Varric throws his head back and laughs.

* * *

It takes two days for everyone to get to Kirkwall, then another two to get everything ready. But here we are. Leliana sent five of her people; three elves and two humans. They're all small and unassuming, the kind of people you'd glance over in a crowd.

Altan stands off to the side, one large trunk by his feet. Two of Leliana's people stand next to it, ready to load it onto the ship. The others are huddled nearby, already assuming their roles as they bow their heads and avoid eye contact.

Varric is smirking about something beside me.

"What?" I ask.

He just nods toward the street. I turn to see a curvaceous woman sauntering toward us. She's wearing an extremely short, corseted dress – well, really more of a long shirt. Over top of that is a form-fitting jacket with lots of buttons. Her ears and neck are adorned with lavish jewelry that stands out against her dark, weather-worn skin. Twin daggers hang from her hips and atop her head sits a large admiral's hat with a tassel in the front.

 _I knew it!_

"Varric, you're looking handsome as ever," Isabela croons when she reaches us, leaning over to plant a loud kiss on the dwarf's cheek.

Varric chuckles and swats her away. "I won't comment on your looks. You hardly need the ego boost."

"Oh, my sweet, you always know what to say to get a girl in the mood." Her gaze darts to me. "And you're looking at me like you know me. You must be Rhynn."

I grin. "Nice to finally meet you."

Her eyes drag down my body and back up. "The pleasure is all mine," she replies with a wink.

I blush like a virgin and try not to stare at her tits. _Good God!_

"My crew should be done loading up the supplies by now," Isabela announces. "Let me introduce you to the love of my life."

We follow the pirate to her ship. She flings her arms out and beams at it. "Isn't she beautiful?"

"Very beautiful, Rivaini," Varric replies indulgently, amusement coloring his tone.

"You've already seen her, Varric. I was asking the new girl," Isabela mock-scolds him.

"She's a real work of art, Isabela," I laugh.

She hums, pleased, and leads us up the gangplank. Altan follows at a short distance, Leliana's people trailing behind him.

A rough-looking man approaches Isabela. "Ready to set sail, Captain."

"Thank you, Jacques. Have this fine gentleman's trunk brought below, would you?" She gestures toward Altan. Jacques nods and orders two other men over to haul the trunk off.

"I'd best be off," Varric announces. "Don't get into too much trouble." He looks at both Isabela and I.

"No promises," Isabela replies at the same time that I say, "Yeah, yeah," and flap a hand at him.

Varric grins and heads back down the ramp. I hear his footsteps pause, then, "Broody?"

"Not a word, dwarf," a deep voice grumbles. A second later, Fenris steps onto the ship. He has a small satchel slung over one shoulder and a greatsword over the other.

"Fenris, what are you doing here?" Isabela asks.

"Hello to you, too," he sasses.

"Oh, don't be like that," she grins and walks over to him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. "You know I'm always happy to see you."

"Don't touch me, wench," Fenris growls, shrugging her arm off.

"Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty!"

"Ugh."

Fenris notices me watching and nods subtly. I give him a small smile in return, pleased at his decision.


	9. Chapter 9

Notes: Oh man, this chapter fought me every step of the way. I had a major case of writer's block. Sorry about the wait!

Also, I thought I'd share that we've got an awesome MCIT chat going on Skype. It's a fun, safe, friendly environment full of awesome people. If anyone's interested in chatting with a me and a handful of other MCIT writers/readers, just let me know in a comment and I'll get you the link. You don't even need Skype to join!

Lastly, a quick thanks to spiderbrojenkins and Katryna for helping me find the motivation to finish this chapter!

* * *

Chapter 9: Just a little more time

I wake with a start, nearly falling out of my hammock. After resettling myself, I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. Images from my dream dance across my eyelids, taunting me. Flashes of color and vibrating lines and a low hum that lingers in my ears. It was complete nonsense! And yet it leaves me feeling strangely unsettled.

After a few minutes, I give up on sleep and roll out of my hammock with a quiet huff.

It's only our second night at sea, but I feel none of the sickness of my first time on a ship. In fact, I feel quite comfortable with the gentle roll of the deck below my feet. I navigate the stairs easily, making my way toward fresh air. I move as quietly as possible, aware of the snores and quiet breathing around me.

The sky is clear, the full moon casting everything in an ethereal light. I almost don't notice the figure leaning against the railing; he fits so well in the setting, white hair nearly glowing.

"Can't sleep?" I ask, moving to join him.

Fenris doesn't startle. I wonder if he heard me coming. Elves do have ridiculously good hearing. "No," he replies simply.

I sigh and join him. "Yeah, me neither."

We stand in silence for a time, just gazing out at the silver-tipped waves.

"Are you worried about going back to Tevinter?" The question comes out without much thought. He tenses and, for a second, I think I've gone too far. Then his shoulders slump.

"Yes," he admits quietly.

"I won't let anything happen to you, you know?"

He scowls down at his hands where they grip the side of the ship. "You cannot promise such a thing." Then he mutters under his breath, "And I do not require your protection."

"I know you don't need my protection," I hurry to say. "I mean, you can rip a person's heart from their chest, for God's sake!" I pause, studying him out of the corner of my eye. "But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm saying you'll leave Tevinter the same way you enter it. A free man. I'll die before I let you be enslaved again."

"We've only just met." It's a statement of fact, but I can hear what's not being said: _How can you be so loyal so quickly? We're relative strangers._

"And?" I challenge anyway.

"We hardly know one another, and yet you say you would die for my freedom?" he scoffs.

I quirk an eyebrow at him. "Yes."

" _Why?_ "

I finally relent. "I'm opposed to the institution of slavery just on principle."

He nods as if I'm finally making sense. "So it isn't personal."

I hum. "I wouldn't say that." He frowns again. Before he can reply, I continue. "Hey, can I ask you a favor?"

He narrows his eyes in suspicion. _So cynical, this one!_ "Possibly."

"I'm going to need to learn Tevene. Would you be willing to teach me?"

He seems to come to a conclusion then. "If you wanted something, you could have just said so," he growls, bristling. "I don't need your empty promises."

My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. "What…?" Suddenly it hits me. _Oh… shit!_ "No, no! I was serious about what I said. I wasn't trying to butter you up or something. If you'd rather not, I can probably just ask Altan. I just figured, since we're both awake, we might as well be productive, right?" I chuckle nervously. _I'm an idiot._

Fenris stares down at his hands again. "Oh…" he coughs. Then he glances up at me. "It is a difficult language."

"Eh," I shrug and flap my hand at him. "It's just a form of Latin. I learned like half of it when I was in med school."

Fenris looks really confused but he nods anyway. "Let us get started then."

* * *

The trip to Tevinter is much longer than the one to Kirkwall. At least it's not as crowded this time and I get to kinda-sorta bathe. Even still, it feels like my skin and hair are covered in a thin layer of salt. It itches, to say the least.

"You'll get used to it," Isabela comments, noticing me scratching at my arms.

"I'm not sure I want to," I reply. "I feel like I'm being pickled alive."

She gives a throaty chuckle and starts doing something with one of the tied-off ropes. I stand off to the side and try not to get in the way of the rest of the crew. I could stay below deck – there's no risk of me upchucking all over the place anymore – but I prefer the fresh air and the view.

"So I hear you get around," Isabela says.

My face scrunches up in confusion. "Uh, pardon?" _What is she trying to imply?_

"You travel a lot," she replies innocently, but her eyes are sparkling with mischief. "Or so Varric and Hawke tell me."

 _Oh my god._ "Yeah… I do."

"You've seen a lot of different places then." She sounds almost wistful.

"Yes."

"Which one was your favorite?" She doesn't look up from her task, but I can tell she's listening intently.

"You mean besides Thedas?" I ask with a smirk. She returns it.

"Obviously." She rolls her eyes. "But surely there are more interesting places."

"Thedas is descending into a full-blown Armageddon. That's not interesting enough for you?" I joke, sitting down on a nearby crate.

"I think I can guess what that means. But maybe I just want a good story, hm? So get on with it, woman!" She waves a hand at me.

I laugh and try to think back, eyes unfocused. "Most of the places I end up are hostile in one way or another. Sometimes it's the wildlife, sometimes it's the people, and sometimes it's just the weather. But I remember this one planet… God, it was beautiful. Huge forests, untouched by anyone before me. Rolling hills scattered with flowers. And the most gorgeous sunsets… It reminded me a lot of my home, just sans people… and food. Most of the stuff wasn't edible to me. I found that out pretty fast," I chuckle softly. "I was half-starved the whole time, but at least I was somewhere peaceful."

When I focus again, Isabela is staring out at the water, rope dangling from her weather-worn fingers. "There is so much of this world I want to see," she tells me quietly. It's strange to see her so serious, but it also serves as yet another reminder of how real these people around me are. They're not caricatures or one-dimensional in any way. They are real people, with hopes and dreams and fears of their own. Which just makes what's coming all the worse.

"I think you will see it," I tell her, not giving voice to my fears. "One day you'll sail farther than anyone and find new lands and people."

She glances at me over her shoulder. "You know this for certain? Am I witnessing one of your famed predictions?" she teases.

I laugh. "No, I just have a feeling." I close my eyes and let the warm sun soak into my skin; listen as the waves crash against the hull. "I can see why you like this life," I comment after a moment.

"It's strangely peaceful, isn't it? For a ship full of pirates." I can hear the fond amusement in her voice.

Softly, I start to sing, " _Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me…"_ I crack an eye open to find her watching me bemusedly. I close it again with a smile.

The conversation drifts off and Isabela soon moves on to other parts of the ship. I stay where I am, though, lulled into a light doze by the sun, wind, and waves. My thoughts are calm, drifting through – one after the other – without lingering for too long. I think about Mycah, about Talisse and Christina, and wonder how they are and if they miss me. A large part of me aches to see them again, to feel that sense of belonging that eluded me for so long. I had it for a short while here, in Thedas, but that time has passed. I can't help but hope that maybe someday, if I make it through the coming storm, I'll have it again.

"May we speak?"

I startle into awareness, blinking furiously in the harsh light. When my eyes finally adjust, I look up to see Altan towering over me.

"Sure." I stand so that I don't have to crane my neck.

"Do you have a plan for hiding your elf friend once we arrive?" he asks. "The ship _will_ be searched thoroughly."

I hesitate. "Not really… but I'm sure Isabela has plenty of places for him to hide."

Altan looks highly skeptical and not a little bit worried. "I suggest you figure that out sooner rather than later."

I feel my hackles rise at his condescending tone. _Where does he get off talking to me like that, anyway? I'm not a child!_ As I open my mouth to tell him off, it hits me: I'd better get used to being talked to that way if I want to keep my cover in Tevinter. No, I won't be playing the part of a slave, but I'll be expected to act subserviently nonetheless. The thought sends a flash of anger that heats my face, as well as the chill of doubt to cool it back down. Perhaps I didn't think this through enough. Can I let those pompous Tevinter assholes boss me around and talk down to me without saying a word? What's more, can I follow their orders and act the part of an obedient servant? Because that's what I'll be. A glorified servant.

I've taken too long to answer and now Altan is scrutinizing me. I realize I have a choice here. We only have a week left of this trip, which means there's not much time before I'll need to fill my role and do so comfortably. If I want to convince anybody, I'm going to need practice. So, here and now, I can either tell Altan off or I can do as he says.

 _Or…_

"I'll go talk to Isabela right now," I assure him, "but only because I need to get used to being ordered around by you. Don't forget that we're equals, _milord_." Though the last word comes out heavy with sarcasm, I give a polite bow before I walk away. Altan looks surprised and confused and I have to wonder if he simply didn't realize how he sounded.

It doesn't take long to find Isabela again. I only have to ask one person to be pointed toward the galley. When I enter, she's sitting on top of a table, surrounded by members of her crew. All of them are eating and laughing raucously. She notices me before I can say anything and waves me over before turning to the cook and asking him to fix me a bowl. The burly – and disturbingly hairy – man slops some stew into a wooden bowl and shoves it at me with a grunt. It smells delicious, but there's also an eighty-percent chance of finding a hair in it. I shrug inwardly and look for a place to sit. I notice Fenris sitting quietly in the corner, far from the rest of the loud group. I walk over and sit next to him.

"What's with you and corners, hm?" I tease.

"What's with you joining me in them?" he counters. We both pause, then, and glance at each other. A choked giggle splutters from between my lips and that's all it takes before we're both laughing.

"That sounded better in my head," he acknowledges between chuckles.

I grin broadly. "I'm sure."

"Aw, Fenris!" Isabela coos, sitting down across from us. "Have you made a friend? I'm so proud of you!"

Fenris grumbles, ducking his head and slurping at his stew.

"Isabela," I intrude, keeping her from teasing the poor elf further. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"Oh?" She quirks an eyebrow.

"We're going to need to hide Fenris before we pull into port. And I mean hide him _well_."

The pirate nods and leans forward, her sleek hair tumbling over one shoulder. "I thought as much. Stands out a bit, doesn't he?"

"A bit," I agree.

"There's no way to hide my tattoos," Fenris adds with a hint of defensiveness.

"We know," Isabela assures, then says to me, "I have many smuggling holds throughout the ship. I know just where to put him."

"Good," I sigh, relieved at having that taken care of.

But then she asks, "How will you get him to Altan's property?" and my eyes widen. _Oh. Why didn't I consider that?_ It suddenly becomes clear to me how woefully unprepared I am.

Isabela must notice my spike of panic, because she continues with, "He could always stay aboard until after dark. It should be much easier to move through the city undetected then."

Shouting _thank you_ over and over again in my head, I simply say, "Good idea."

Fenris nods in agreement. "I know how to get around unnoticed."

Though the thought of him sneaking through the streets of Minrathous alone is worrying, I dare not ask if he's sure. There's a certain flintiness to his gaze that warns me off. Plus, Fenris is an adult. One who's dealt with more than most. He doesn't need me to mother him.

I dig into my food, feeling a little better. I still feel uneasy, though. There are so many things that could go wrong and the consequences of messing up are dire. Anxiety grips my lungs and makes my palms sweat when I think about any of us getting caught. This is more than a recon mission. I'm here to observe, yes, but also to fix things.

 ** _You? Fix things? Ha!_**

I'm not surprised that the voice chose now to pitch in. It seems to always find its way back to the surface when I'm feeling vulnerable, here to kick me when I'm down. But I can't help agreeing with it this time. I'm not especially good at fixing. I'm good at blowing things to pieces and ruining lives. How can I possibly fix an issue that's been around for _hundreds of years_? I've got no idea what I'm doing. My plan was to go to Tevinter and figure out a plan. What the hell was I thinking? For that matter, what was Leliana thinking, letting me leave without thinking any of this through first?

 _Oh God… we're completely fucked and it's all my fault._

Just as I'm about to go back to my hammock and curl into a ball of despair, a small voice in the back of my mind reminds me of my promise to Dad. _I'll always strive to be someone you'd be proud to call your daughter._ I drop my spoon into the bowl and pull my necklace out from beneath my shirt. I look at the carved bird, then open the locket to look at the pictures. After a moment, I tuck them both away again and straighten my spine.

Now isn't the time for falling apart. There's too much at stake.

* * *

The day we make landfall is unbearably hot. The sun beats down on the deck and reflects off the water harshly. Below deck is even worse. Those of us unaccustomed to such heat are huddled in what little shadow we can find.

I've already changed into something less conspicuous: a set of fine leather armor provided by Varric before we left. Needless to say, my t-shirts and leather jacket would stand out in Minrathous. My things are hidden away in a secret compartment on the ship and will stay there until I can safely bring them to Altan's estate.

I'm not the only one in disguise. Even Isabela has changed. Gone are her heavy, gold accessories and revealing clothing, replaced with a simple tunic and trouser get-up. Her hair has been pulled back from her face into a tight bun, making her look more severe. She's barely recognizable this way.

As we get closer, Isabela escorts Fenris and the 'slaves' below. Fenris will be tucked away in the most well-hidden of the holds. The others are to be locked in the brig.

I take my place beside Altan, back straight, feet shoulder-width apart, and hands clasped behind my back. Isabela returns soon enough and starts barking orders.

The waters off the coast of Minrathous are apparently deep enough for full-sized ships to dock. Isabela's isn't huge, which seems to make the process easier. The crew carefully maneuvers the ship into place, dropping anchor at the right time to bring us to a stop next to one of the docks. A few of them then climb over the side to tie us in place and help position the gangplank.

Altan stands and makes his way over, ready to greet the inspectors. I follow him, expression blank. Isabela joins us soon after, looking stern.

A few minutes later, a well-groomed man with sharp eyes boards the ship. He glances around, sneering at the crew. "Proof of identification," he demands tonelessly, not bothering to look at any of us. He's speaking Tevene, of course, but I've worked hard over the past few weeks. I've got the basics down.

 _Great first impression, Tevinter._

Altan pulls a few pieces of folded parchment out of his robes and hands them over. The man flips through them, pausing every now and again to linger on something. Then he re-folds and hands them back to Altan.

"You've been gone for some time, Aubericus. Care to explain why?"

"I wanted to travel," Altan explains calmly. "To see how the rest of the world runs."

The man's eyes narrow. "And what did you learn?"

"That all the stereotypes about Southerners are true." Altan gives an easy chuckle. The man doesn't join in, but he does nod once.

"Who are these people?" he asks, gesturing to Isabela and me.

"My bodyguard and the ship captain I hired to bring me home," Altan answers.

Isabela bows slightly. "Welcome aboard," she greets politely. I remain silent.

The man looks her up and down and doesn't respond. Then he turns back to Altan. "Your ship must be searched. These are trying times and we must take the utmost care in keeping our citizens safe. I'm sure you understand." The words sound rehearsed and insincere, as if he really doesn't care whether we understand or not.

"Of course." Altan tilts his head.

The man raises his hand and flicks his fingers. Three other men file onto the ship and fan out around him. He nods and they disperse, spreading out to search.

"You're gone for five years and bring back only one bodyguard?" The man questions Altan.

"A very good bodyguard. You know how dangerous the south can be. I acquired her early on and she has done her job well." Even though Altan is lying through his teeth, it still feels strange having him talk about me like this. I feel… devalued, even though he's praising my work. _God, this is gross._ "I also bought a few slaves as a present to my sister. She's cross that I've been gone so long. Hopefully that will smooth things over." _Very gross._ I know Altan can't really believe the things he's saying. Why would he be helping us if he did? Still, hearing it makes me want to punch him in the face.

"They will need to be inspected as well," the man says, not acknowledging any other part of what was said.

Before Altan can reply, one of the other men hurries over. "Sir, we've found a smuggling hold."

 _No!_ My heart races.

The man's eyes light up like it's Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one. He smiles and it's like watching an oil spill spread across the surface of the ocean. He looks at Isabela, eyebrow raised. "A pirate ship?"

I have to commend Isabela for keeping cool under pressure. She just smiles and says, "It used to be. My crew and I reclaimed it a few years back."

"Then why keep the holds?" he asks.

"They can… come in handy." She gives him a coy smile and he seems to relax somewhat.

"I'm required to search them," he informs her.

She keeps smiling. "Search away!"

"Why don't you show me around your fine vessel, Captain…?"

"Magdalena," she finishes for him. "And it would be my pleasure." She flutters her eyelashes a little to seal the deal.

 _Woman's got skills._

Isabela leads the way and the man follows, gesturing at Altan to follow as well. He and I walk behind them, exchanging a quick look. Isabela takes us below deck, making sure to pause and talk about her ship any chance she gets. She's doing a very good job of stalling, but the man eventually asks to see the smuggling holds.

 _Oh God, please don't let them find Fenris..._

My mind races, trying to come up with a plan, but I'm failing. All I can think of is the promise I made to him and how I'm going to break it before we even step foot in Tevinter.

 _Why did I think I could pull this off?_

It's only fitting that one of the men walks in then and says, "We've found another hold, but we can't figure out how to open it." My heart stops for a second.

 _Oh, nonono!_

I have to work to hide my panic. It's growing, consuming me. _What do I do, what do I do?!_ Whether I blow my cover or wait things out, we're screwed _. Maybe I can tell one of the crew members to hide him somewhere else?_ But no, they're all up on the deck and anyway, those men have already found his hiding spot. _I could attack the lead asshole. We could dispatch them all and sail away. But could we make open water before someone realized something's wrong?_

I decide the last one is our best bet. I'll stay quiet and follow along for now, but if need be, I'll slit this man's throat. I study him closely as we walk. His outfit has a high collar. That might make things difficult. I may need to apply more pressure… just a bit.

 _No! No more unnecessary killing! You promised!_

We stop in front of the hidden door to the hold. The man orders Isabela to open it. Her panic finally shows, but only in her eyes.

 _But it's to save Fenris!_

Isabela starts fiddling with the lock. I can tell she's trying to buy more time, but what for? There's no way to stop this except –

 _NO! Make it mean something, Rhynn!_

If I only had a little more time, maybe I could think of something! Just a little! We could subdue them, take them as prisoners. But it's a long way to open water. We were surrounded by land for an entire day before we reached Minrathous.

 _Oh god oh god!_

The lock finally clicks open. Isabela has bought us as much time as she can; it's not enough. The man moves forward and starts to open the door. The glow of lyrium spills through the crack. Fenris is ready. He'll come out fighting. We outnumber the inspectors by a lot, but it could still be a challenge. They are unknowns and thus potentially dangerous. And someone outside might hear the fight. Then we'd be outnumbered. I can't let any of these people be captured or killed. I can't!

The lead guy is smiling his oil-slick smile again. The door is still opening.

 _Just a little more time…_

 _There is no more._

" _No!_ " I cry, lurching forward and throwing my hands out as if I can stop this. The world seems to slow down around me as adrenaline courses through my veins. All I know is I need to reach Fenris before this asshat does.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small observation is made. It thrusts its way to the fore, demanding my full attention.

 _The door hasn't opened any more._

What a strange thing to notice… and yet, in the split second it takes me to cross that small distance to the smuggling hold, it's enough to stop me in my tracks.

 _No, it hasn't, has it?_

My eyes flow from the door to the hand opening it and up to the face of the man it belongs to. He's… he's not moving. Not even a little bit. He's just frozen in place, still smiling creepily.

"What-"

I whip my head around to see if anyone else has noticed this, only to find… only to find they're all frozen. Every last one of them. They're not even breathing!

"What the ever-loving _fuck_?!"


	10. Chapter 10

Notes: Another chapter! Woo!

* * *

Chapter 10: Not in Kansas anymore

"How… how is this happening…?" I turn in a slow circle, eyes darting from one frozen face to another. My voice sounds weird, muffled, but in the sudden silence even it is too loud. I can't hear anything but my own breathing. All other sounds of life have stopped. The soft slap of waves against the hull: gone. The creaking of the ship as it bobs in place: gone. Footsteps: gone. Voices: gone. Everything. Their absence leaves my ears ringing. But then I notice it… a faint hum, so quiet I wonder if I'm imagining it.

I let out a shuddering breath and it stirs dust motes that were suspended mid-air.

 _Did I do this…?_ My heart stutters in fear and exhilaration. Suddenly, I remember Flemeth's words. _Have you learned to control your powers yet?_ I've thought about those words a lot. Could this be what she was talking about?

My gaze returns to the door and the glow spilling through the crack. The sight of it is like a good slap to the face, snapping me out of my shock – at least enough to be functional.

 _Act now, think later!_

I hurry over and slip through the opening, heart hammering in my chest. On the other side, Fenris is frozen in a fighting stance, one arm reaching back for his sword. His face is the picture of determination, the glow of his tattoos casting deep shadows in the small room.

"Okay, need to get you out of here…" I mutter to myself, hands fluttering uselessly at my side as I try to figure out how to go about this. _Do I just drag him out of here?_ A corner of my brain wonders whether he'll stay rigid like a statue or be more pliable. "Well, only one way to figure out."

I reach out and grab his upper arm, ready to bear his full weight. _He's kind of tiny, though. I could probably pick him up._ But before I can move to do just that, a glowing fist punches through my chest. I feel fingers wrap around my heart and I choke in terror.

"You – " Fenris' voice catches. "What…?" If he didn't literally hold my heart in his hands, I would answer. As it is, though, I'm trying not to vomit. Fenris gasps, letting go of my internal organs and withdrawing his hand. I clutch at his arm, nearly falling into him as I try to remember how to breathe. "I… sorry, I – " He breaks off, brows scrunched in confusion. "What's happening? I thought I'd been found."

"You will be if we don't hurry," I manage to croak. When Fenris cocks his head, I jerk mine toward the open door. Warily, he peeks out then freezes in place, tattoos glowing brighter than ever.

"What is this?" he growls.

"Fuck if I know." I push him out through the door and start dragging him by the arm. "Come on, we need to find you a new hiding place." He follows willingly, but I can feel his eyes boring holes in the back of my skull.

"You did this." It's not a question.

"Possibly." I sigh and rub my temple, winding us quickly through the room of living statues.

"You don't know?"

I huff. "It just _happened_ , okay?" I snap. My head is pounding and I feel exhausted.

Fenris scoffs but I ignore him, opening up one of the holds that's already been inspected and letting go of his arm.

 _How long will this last? After I hide Fenris, I still need to get back to the other room._

Fenris hasn't moved. I roll my eyes hard. "Dude, this is seriously not the time for stubbornness!" I turn an accusing glare on him. That's when I realize he's not moving. _Oh shit, what's happening now?_ Frantically, I grab his arm again and start to shake him. "Fenris!"

He raises an eyebrow and looks incredulously down at my arm. "What?"

 _Uhh…_ "Uhh…" I blink. "Well, apparently I have to make contact or else you freeze again. So, yeah, into the hole in the wall now, if you please."

Fenris blinks at me but steps through the doorway, my hand still on his arm. As soon as he's fully in, I let go and slam the door behind him. I quickly lock it before spinning on my heel and sprinting back. My entire brain screams with each beat of my heart and my stomach roils with nausea. It takes me a second to notice that everyone has started to move again, very slowly.

 _Oh God, it's wearing off! Where the fuck was I standing?!_ I glance around frantically. _Fuck it!_

I stop next to Altan and let out a sigh. Time resumes a heartbeat later.

My eyes dart around the room, wondering if anyone noticed anything. One man is staring at me, blinking rapidly. I hold my breath, waiting for him to raise the alarm, but then he shakes his head and looks away. I let out another, quieter sigh.

By now, the head inspector has flung open the door and is frowning at the empty smuggling hold. "I could have sworn…" he mutters, stepping inside and studying the walls.

"Is something the matter?" Isabela asks, cool as a cucumber.

"I…" The man presses his hands to the wood, mouth opening and closing. Finding nothing, he steps out of the hold, straightens his robes, and gives a dismissive sniff. "Apparently not. Shall we continue?" Isabela agrees but as we walk away, I notice the man glance over his shoulder, brow furrowed.

Port Security doesn't stay for much longer, really, but it feels like forever. It's not until they're off the boat and some ways down the dock that I let myself really breathe again. My legs give out from under me and I sink down onto the deck, holding my head in my hands.

"Holy shit," I whisper shakily as the reality of what just happened comes crashing down on me. A hand settles on my shoulder and I realize someone has kneeled beside me.

"Rhynn, where is Fenris?" Isabela asks slowly.

"The hold in the galley," I manage.

" _How?!_ " Altan asks. I glance up to find both of them staring at me with wide eyes.

A hysterical little laugh escapes my thinned lips. "I think I stopped time."

"You _what_?" he hisses.

I shake my head, still not sure any of this is really happening. "Time stopped. I was reaching out to, I don't know, stop that guy from finding Fenris. But then I noticed everyone was frozen." I'm blabbing but I can't seem to stop. "Not just the people, either! _Nothing_ was moving! So I grabbed Fenris and he un-froze and we went to another hold. I barely made it back in time and I think one guy saw something." By the end, my words are tumbling out in a near-garbled mess.

"Breathe, love," Isabela soothes, rubbing my back. Altan is muttering to himself now, something about time magic. _But I'm not a mage! Right…?_

"I'm not a mage, though!" I protest out loud, but my voice warbles.

Altan studies me for a long moment, fingers cupping his chin. "We cannot discount the possibility." I blanch. "Granted, most mages are much younger than you when they first discover their gifts. Not to mention they usually just set the curtains on fire or freeze over a glass of water, not perform gods-forsaken _time magic_!"

 _Motherfucking shit!_ I try not to panic.

Isabela gently clears her throat. "Altan, be a dear and go let one of my men know where Fenris is, would you?"

Altan seems to snap out of his thoughts. He gives a stilted nod and walks off. Isabela moves in front of me and puts her hands on my knees.

"You'll be all right," she assures, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. "Just take a few deep breaths."

I take her advice and just breathe for a minute. It helps.

"Surely this isn't the worst thing that could have happened?" she asks rhetorically.

I think about what would have happened, to Fenris and to the rest of us, and no… definitely not the worst thing.

After another moment or two, I stand and brush myself off. I clear my throat, eyes cast down, and mutter a quick thank you.

"Don't mention it. Let's go see how our elf is doing." She loops her arm around mine and drags me down the stairs.

* * *

The next part of the journey is simple enough. There's a carriage waiting for Altan and myself, a wagon for the 'slaves.' All I have to do is look suitably bodyguard-like and ride in uncomfortable silence for half an hour. Uncomfortable because Altan eyes me curiously the whole way.

We left Isabela and Fenris behind, of course. Fenris will be escorted tonight, when there's less chance of him being caught. Isabela said she has business in the city and left it at that. So, for now, it's just Altan and me.

When we arrive, I climb out quickly, eager to stretch my legs. Then my jaw drops when I finally glance up at the house. Scratch that. Houses aren't this big. This is a mansion, an estate, and not homey in any way. At least not on the outside. I suppose I should reserve my judgment. Of course, that thought evaporates when two elves – obviously slaves – come hurrying out of the front doors to grab the luggage. One of them reaches for my bag but I snatch it up first.

"Uh, sorry, I'd just prefer carrying it," I explain when the elf reels back a little.

With wide eyes, he bows low and stammers out, "Apologies, miss!"

"It's okay," I mutter, feeling uncomfortable at the show of subservience.

"Before we go in," Altan says, grabbing my attention.

"Hm?"

"I just wanted to warn you that my sister knows nothing of our arrangement yet. Please keep up the act in front of her, at least for now." He looks slightly hesitant to admit it. I cock my head, curious. _Does he not trust her?_ Before I can ask, Altan sweeps an arm toward the doors and says, "Shall we?" I nod and put on my bodyguard face, following slightly behind him. At the entrance, I slip in front and pretend to check for threats before stepping aside to let him pass. That quick look tells me all I need to know. The place is even more opulent on the inside. The décor has a certain gothic feel to it, lots of dark metal and polished stone floors. The curtains are velvet and heavy and the last rays of sunlight filter in through paned glass windows. That and the many lit candles give a small sense of warmth, at least.

"Altan!" a woman's voice cries from the top of the stairs. By the time I lay eyes on her, she's already halfway down. Soon she's throwing her arms around Altan. To my surprise, the man seems to melt in her embrace.

"Aurora," he sighs happily, a small smile on his lips.

The woman pulls back to cup his face in her hands. "Oh, how I've missed you."

"And I you," he responds.

Studying them, I can see the resemblance. _This must be the sister._ As if hearing my thoughts, Aurora turns to me, still smiling.

"And who might this be?"

"A bodyguard I hired on my travels," Altan explains, though his voice sounds odd. Aurora seems to notice too, squinting suspiciously at him. _Oops._

Aurora raises a thin eyebrow but lets it go. "Surely you have a name?" she asks me.

"Rhynn," I reply, keeping it simple.

"A pleasure to meet you, Rhynn," she says politely. "And thank you for watching after my brother."

I bow my head. "Of course, miss."

She waves a hand at me. "None of that, please. As long as we're at home, call me Aurora." That throws me a little and all I can do is nod. _Why wouldn't Altan want to tell her? She seems decent enough._ Aurora turns and calls out to a young girl passing by. I can tell from her simple garb that she's either a slave or a servant. "Sylvia, would you prepare a room for our guest please?" The girl nods and hurries off. It strikes me as odd that she keeps her head up the whole time, considering my first encounter with one of the slaves here. And Aurora called her by name… and said please?

 _This isn't what I was expecting._

"You two must be famished. Come on, there should be some leftovers." Aurora leads the way to the kitchens, just as politely asking one of the cooks to get us some food. Soon enough, the three of us are gathered around the well-worn kitchen table to eat. I doubt this is the table either Aubericus normally eats at, but neither seems uncomfortable here. The two siblings catch up while I stay quiet, observing. I'm still not entirely fluent at Tevene, so it's difficult to keep up sometimes. Both of them are content to let me be until Aurora notices me stifling a yawn and hurries off to check if my room is ready. As soon as she's out of earshot, I turn to Altan.

"Why haven't you told her?"

Altan looks sheepish. "I didn't want to risk telling her in a letter."

I narrow my eyes at him. "That's not all," I hedge.

He sighs. "She's going to slap me upside the head and call me a fool." At my questioning glance, he continues. "Aurora is kind to her slaves, as I am sure you noticed, but she believes that everyone has their place in society. Not necessarily that they must remain in the class they're born to," he hurries to explain, "but that the structure is important to maintaining order."

I hum, watching him out of the corner of my eye as I fiddle with one of my daggers. "I can understand your concern, but how exactly do you plan on hiding Fenris from her?"

Altan frowns. After a moment, he sighs again and nods. "I shall talk to her."

The girl from before, Sylvia, skitters into the room and gives a quick bow. "Your room is ready, miss," she informs me. "May I escort you?"

"Yes, please," I answer, standing slowly. Before I follow her, I lean down next to Altan's ear and whisper, "Send for me when he arrives." Altan nods.

Sylvia leads me up the stairs and down a long hallway filled with doors. She stops in front of the fourth one on the right and opens the door, holding it for me as I enter.

"Will you be needing anything else, miss?"

I glance over my shoulder. "Ah, no thank you. I'm good."

"Very well, miss. Should you change your mind, just pull the cord there." She points to a silver cord beside the bed.

"Right…"

"Goodnight, miss." Sylvia bows and leaves, closing the door behind her.

"Goodnight," I reply, a little too late. I turn in a slow circle, studying my new bedroom with slightly parted lips. "Good God," I whisper, taking in the giant canopy bed in the center of the room. I set my backpack down at the foot of it and run my fingers over the soft curtains. I notice a door to my right and wander over to inspect. I open it and gasp. Inside is a full bathroom, with a sink, tub, toilet and everything. A slow grin spreads across my face as I turn the taps and actual water comes out. Deciding I can't possibly wait another moment, I run myself a bath and hop in. It's too hot, but I don't even care. It feels incredible to finally wash off my thin layer of salt.

Later, scrubbed clean and smelling of whatever oil was in the soap I used, I lay flat on my new bed and stare up at the canopy. I know I can't sleep until after Fenris arrives, but the mattress is ridiculously soft and I'm weak. As I worry the velvet curtains between my fingers, I try to distract myself from thoughts of what happened earlier. Easier said than done.

 _So I can possibly control time. Big deal._ I giggle. _Yeah, I'm not fooling anyone here._ I frown and make myself face the facts. I stopped time earlier and I'm now living with people who own slaves.

 _Toto, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore._


	11. Chapter 11

Notes: Hello everyone! Once again, sorry for making you wait, but here it is!

So, some quick news before I let you continue. I now have a beta and she is amazing! Seriously, I cannot stress that enough! Along with typical beta-ing, she's been helping me come up with some really great ideas for this story. I think we're both looking forward to sharing them with you all. And as if that wasn't already incredible enough, she also made beautiful art of this fic! You can see it here: **livinginthedas DOT tumblr DOT com / post / 148658892070 / so-i-made-some-fanart-of-rhynn-from**. If you want to see her other art (and I really recommend that you take a look), click here: **livinginthedas DOT tumblr DOT com / tagged / my art** (remove spaces and replace DOT with a period). She's doing commissions right now and, well, I think her art speaks for itself. If you want a piece done, you should definitely consider her! Also, she's writing an MGIT fic of her own! Go check it out: **archiveofourown DOT org / users / fnuckle / pseuds / fnuckle.**

All right, one last thing! Another lovely reader made not one, but TWO pieces of art for this story! "Three drawings?!" you exclaim? Yes, I am a very happy writer right now. Check out the the other two:

 **best-url-of-all-time DOT tumblr DOT com / post / 151200264107 / another-piece-for-sarcasm-and-cynicism**

 **best-url-of-all-time DOT tumblr DOT com / post / 151181673157 / special-piece-for-sarcasm-and-cynicism-and-her-oc**

Aren't they beautiful?! Ok, now on with the story!

* * *

Chapter 11: Down the Rabbit Hole

 _Leliana,_

 _Wow, I feel so fancy! Getting a letter via carrier bird (is this a raven? It looks weird), sitting at a fancy writing desk to reply, using quill and ink. I'd just as soon settle for a number two pencil and notebook paper, but this is fun too. Maybe I wouldn't get such a kick out of it if it weren't for the sheer boredom that is my life right now. I probably shouldn't complain about that, though, all things considered. Still, your letter is a welcome distraction (even if it is all business)._

 _If I'm bored, you know things are progressing as planned. Your people are in their places and I'm in mine. Luckily, there isn't much need for pretense, at least within these walls. At first, I thought I'd have to act from dawn 'til dusk. Altan failed to inform his sister of our plan. She didn't stay out of the loop for long (nothing much gets past her) and it was pretty damn funny when Altan finally admitted everything. She threw a vase at his head! Fortunately for us, she missed. It seems Altan's fears were unwarranted; Aurora is very much on our side. She does believe societal roles are important, but doesn't include slavery in that belief. She is also less awkward than her brother and has more connections in the community. She's willing to exploit some of these for us._

 _I've been brainstorming a lot with the Aubericuses, your people, and even some of the actual slaves (the ones not afraid to talk to me, that is). I should explain – Aurora informed me that she tries to buy the slaves that seem most downtrodden and gives them a better place to live. It still rankles that they own slaves at all, but I have to give her credit for at least doing that. I understand it's also necessary to keep up appearances. Fenris sometimes drops in on these brainstorming sessions, but he doesn't say much. I think he's feeling trapped (and I certainly don't blame him). I feel bad, but we need him. I'll give him his space for now._

 _You should be both happy and scared to know I'm attending a big soiree tonight. Happy because I'll be able to observe these people like bacteria under a microscope. Scared because you know how I am at parties. Luckily, I can mostly be myself. Just stand there and look tough. I don't even have to talk! Actually, Altan says I shouldn't, so that should make things easier. Hopefully no one tries to kill him; I'd hate to have to actually be his bodyguard. Not sure how good I'd be at the job. Best part about this, though: I can wear armor! No dresses here! Take that, Miss I-Look-Through-Other-People's-Underwear! Yeah, I know about that!_

 _So… there is one other thing you should know. Hell, maybe you already do. You seem to have eyes everywhere. Anyway, I think I stopped time, the day we first arrived. It probably sounds crazy at first (I know I thought so!), but it kind of makes sense if you think about it. Doesn't mean I'm not feeling overwhelmed by it, even weeks later. When we pulled into port, a group of men boarded the ship and inspected it. We hid Fenris really well, but they found him anyway. Or, they would have if I hadn't… done whatever it was I did. I'm still not sure how it happened. One second I was reaching out, the next everything was frozen. I was able to move Fenris to another hiding spot before time resumed. And, well… I don't know if this is important, but when I touched him he was able to move again – everything but the two of us was still frozen, though. I still can't quite believe it happened. Altan thinks it could really come in handy, if I can figure out how to do it again. I agree, so I've been trying. And trying. And trying. So far, my efforts have been futile. I'll keep trying though._

 _Hope things are going well in your igloo. Say hi to the others for me (whoever's left, that is)._

 _Rhynn_

With a quiet sigh, I return the quill to its holder and sit back in my chair. I stare at the letter, waiting for the ink to dry. The whole thing is in English, the written form of which is known to only two people in Thedas: myself and Leliana. The spymaster's own letter to me was the same, so I figured I should follow suit. Once the letter is dry, I roll it up and tie it to the maybe-raven's leg and unlatch the window to let it fly off.

Someone knocks on the door to my room, then, startling me slightly. "One sec!" I call, quickly putting on a pair of pants before hurrying over to the door. On the other side is a petite blonde woman carrying a large stack of cloth and leather.

"One of the slaves mentioned your armor was done being _polished_ ," she starts without preamble, tone suggesting her disapproval. "I was coming up here anyway, so I offered to bring it to you." She barges past me and dumps the lot onto my bed, huffing. "Don't get used to it." Then she turns to face me, hands on her hips. Now that I can clearly see her face, I recognize her as one of Leliana's – Sevalle, I think her name is.

"Altan thought salt stains wouldn't give the hoity-toities a good impression," I reply, smirking. She doesn't smile back. _Tough crowd._

Sevalle marches toward me, getting in my face. "Don't screw this up tonight. The others and I won't be there to fix it. Keep your eyes open. Observe everything, even if you don't think it's important. You haven't been trained, so you won't know what to look for. You'll need to relay everything to us when you get back." _Excuse you!_ I narrow my eyes at her. She narrows hers back and continues. "Most important of all, though, _blend in._ Don't do anything strange, speak only when spoken to – even then, keep it short – and stay by Aubericus the whole night. I don't care if you see the Maker himself beckoning to you from a doorway, you cling to the 'Vint like your life depends on it, because it does. Have I made myself clear?"

 _Sir, yes, sir!_ I get the urge to salute her. I can't even tell if it would be sarcastic or not. "Yes," I reply instead.

"Good, now sit down."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

"Okay…" I sit down slowly on the bench at the end of my bed. Sevalle pulls out a small leather case, opens it, and pulls out a tin. "What's that?"

"Makeup."

I stand again, shaking my head and backing away. "Oh-hoh no, I don't think so. I don't have to get all primped for this party and I don't plan to."

"I'm not here to make you pretty. It would take a lot more than what I have here to do that."

"Hey!"

"I'm here to cover up your scars."

Well, now I'm definitely not sitting down again. "No."

Sevalle rolls her eyes so hard the pupils disappear for a second. "Maker, you're stubborn! Sit down and let me do this."

"I said no," I grouse. "Get out."

Her head tilts and her gaze turns calculating. "There were rumors about you, after you left."

I quirk an eyebrow in challenge. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You were quite the hot topic. I'd wager there are even people in Tevinter who have heard of you."

"Oh," I mutter, eyes dropping to the floor. I see where she's going with this. My scars are fairly… distinctive. Gritting my teeth, I sink onto the bench once more. Sevalle just nods and dips two fingers into the pot. They come out covered in a paste the color of my skin which she proceeds to slather onto my face.

"Really, we should have done this before the people who inspected our ship saw you, but we'll just have to hope magisters don't consult with the likes of them." Sevalle starts pressing the paste into my scars. It doesn't hurt, of course, but it's not comfortable either.

That's the last thing spoken for a while as she continues to work. An eternity later, she pulls back to inspect her work and gives it a nod. "Good enough. Don't smile, or really move your face more than it takes to talk. This stuff will crack and crumble."

"Great," I mumble.

"You're set then. Remember," she shoves a finger in my face, "don't screw this up."

I don't know what I did to piss this woman off, but clearly it was bad. I keep quiet, though, and she leaves without another word. Hyperaware of the thick gunk on my face, I start carefully strapping myself into my armor. Once finished, I walk over to the mirror… and just stare.

The face that stares back at me is one I haven't seen in a long time. It's the face of a girl who hasn't yet seen the horrors the universe has to offer. My scars have become such an integral part of me that seeing a reflection that lacks them is unsettling. Sevalle did a good job, though.

I turn away and gather my weapons, strapping them to my person. Then I leave the room and head downstairs. Altan and Aurora are waiting for me, both dressed in gleaming robes. Their eyes widen a little upon seeing my face, but neither mention it.

"Ah, Rhynn. Are you ready?" Altan asks. I nod, still reeling a bit. "Good. The carriage is waiting."

I follow them outside and into the carriage. We ride in silence for a short while before I blurt out, "I think you should call me by a fake name."

The siblings turn to me with almost identical expressions. Altan is the first to respond. "May I ask why?"

"Someone brought it to my attention that I could possibly be recognized, even here," I explain, fighting the urge to scratch at the makeup on my face.

As if reading my mind, Aurora says, "That would certainly explain the lack of scars."

I have to remind myself not to grimace. "Yeah… so maybe it would be best if we don't use my name either?"

"I agree," Altan nods. "What shall we call you then?"

I think for a moment. "Ree."

"Ree?" Aurora questions.

"Yes."

Both of them make gestures of acquiescence. I turn and look out the small window and we lapse into silence again. If only my head were as quiet. Thoughts buzz through my head like a swarm of bees, filling it with static. _What if someone recognizes me? What if someone talks down to me and I can't keep my mouth shut? What do I even look for? Why am I going? What's the point of all this?_ And, of course, the ever present _I miss Solas._ I shake my head to dislodge the thought.

The trip isn't a long one, and soon enough we're pulling up in front of an even grander estate than the Aubericus'. Altan reaches over and picks my jaw up off the floor. "Watch your reactions," he warns, then reaches for the door. I pull myself together just in time, grabbing his arm to stop him.

"Let me go first, remember?" I hiss.

"It seems we both need practice," Altan chuckles lowly. My lips twitch as I climb out before him and assess my surroundings. I don't notice any immediate threats and give Altan a nod. He slides out of the carriage, poised where I am graceless, followed by Aurora in much the same fashion. Both start toward the entrance without glancing at me. I follow a few steps behind, eyes scanning the other new arrivals. We fall in line behind a woman wearing unadorned black robes and a puckered expression. A man at the door speaks to her, checks his list, and lets her proceed. Then it's our turn.

"Altan and Aurora Aubericus and bodyguard," Altan states and the man checks his list, looking rather bored. He nods and we continue through the tall double doors. In the entryway, a meek-looking boy takes Altan and Aurora's outerwear. And then we're passing into the main hall. I enter first, doing my checking-for-trouble thing, then stand aside to let the two of them walk past me. A few people closest to us glance over, mildly curious, before turning back to their conversations.

I follow behind the siblings as they start to mingle. They stop and exchange pleasantries with a good number of people and, after a while, the faces start to blend together. I don't mean to let it happen, but things are a bit, well… boring.

 _Really, what did you expect Rhynn? A Death Eater meeting?_

I quickly realize that this is how Tevinter society works. They parade around at these parties in their finest silks and gaudiest jewelry, wearing fake smiles and chatting about the weather. Then they go home and sacrifice a slave or two for the sake of power. Only a fool admits to blood magic and fools don't last long here. These are wolves in sheeps' clothing. _No,_ I amend, _that is far too kind a metaphor._ _Wolves at least work together._ No, these people are snakes in glass cases. They sit on their perch, let you pretend you're safe, all the while watching with sharp eyes, ready to strike at the first sign of weakness.

As if to prove my point, a dark-eyed, pointy-faced man approaches Altan from behind. He extends an arm as if to touch him. At the last second, my brain kicks into gear, reminding me I'm supposed to be playing bodyguard. I clamp a hand around his wrist and move myself between him and Altan. This draws the attention of both Aubericuses, along with the woman they were talking to. I can see Altan peering around me in my peripheral vision.

"Stand down, Ree," he commands. I let go and step aside, but not too far. The sharp-faced man just looks amused by the whole thing. Altan inclines his head and says, "Drustanus."

Drustanus – and really, what the hell kind of name is that? – nods back. "Aubericus." He looks past Altan to his sister and his tone turns silky. "And Aurora. A pleasure, as always." He takes her hand and kisses the top of it. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Aurora smiles winningly, though, and accepts the kiss graciously. "Palaemon, good to see you again. How have you been?"

 _Wow, this guy really drew the short straw in the name department._

"Quite well, thank you." Palaemon Drustanus simply _oozes_ charm. I notice many of the ladies nearby surreptitiously watching the conversation between him and Aurora, many with blatant jealousy. That's all the evidence I need to know this man before me is in a position of considerable power. Power that other people want. "I recently acquired new property and I get to spend the night at a wonderful party," Drustanus continues. "Life is good, my dear!"

Aurora laughs politely. "That it is! I'm curious now, though. What new property have you acquired?" She poses the question just right, moving closer to Drustanus and smiling at him.

Palaemon affects a solemn expression. "Oh, a dear friend of mine – Septimus; you remember him? – passed away about a week ago and left all his worldly belongings to me. I feel very fortunate he considered me worthy enough to inherit his possessions."

"Oh, what a tragedy!" Aurora exclaims. "At least some good came of it, though. If I recall correctly, the man owned a vast swath of land on the edge of the city. Certainly he had many bodies working the land, as well."

Palaemon nods. "He did, he did. All mine now." His eyes gleam a little at this.

Aurora lays a delicate hand on his arm, as if the shine in his eyes is from tears. "Well, you have both my condolences and my congratulations."

"Thank you, Aurora," he responds, sounding gracious, but then his sharp eyes dart to Altan. "You've been quiet."

Altan, who's been watching the proceedings with a narrowed gaze, relaxes his expression and laughs. "I couldn't very well deprive you of my sister's conversation!"

Drustanus chuckles as well, winking down at Aurora. She flutters her lashes and smiles back. _I really hope she's faking._ "And I am glad you did not! But you just returned from the South, yes? After three years, no less! What could have possibly possessed you to spend so long there?" he asks incredulously.

"I was curious," Altan shrugs. "I wondered how a people lacking in, well, _everything_ could still hold their own against other countries and the Blight."

Drustanus nods sagely. "I suppose their savagery has its advantages, and I can't say I blame you for your curiosity. I often find myself dissecting animals just to see what's inside." I imagine it's not animals he cuts open but people – slaves – and I have to suppress a shiver of disgust. "Your travels most likely served a similar purpose; in order to understand something, you must immerse yourself in it." Altan nods in agreement, but Drustanus is looking at me now. Suddenly, I am no longer the observer but the observed. "I see you brought home a specimen." His eyes rake over me, lingering in places that make me want to gouge his eyeballs out with my thumbs.

 _Go fuck yourself, Dusty Anus!_

"A bodyguard I hired in Ferelden," Altan explains.

"She must be quite good for you to take her on permanently," _Dusty Anus_ observes, speaking as if I'm not even here.

"Very," Altan smirks. I'm not sure I like the look of that smile; it seems to imply things.

"I wonder if you'd be willing to hire her out," Palaemon leers. "A bodyguard might be a good idea, considering my new status."

 _Oh, they are NOT talking about what I think they're talking about!_ The leather of my glove creaks as the hand inside tightens into a fist.

Altan chuckles. "Sorry, Drustanus, you'll have to find your own."

 _Oh my God!_ My blood boils and I can't keep my mouth shut any longer. My words come out through clenched teeth. "You forget, _sir_ , that you pay _me_ to keep you safe."

Drustanus smiles, all teeth. "Cheeky! Those ones are always the most fun."

 _Oh, yes Pal. I'm going to have a lot of fun cutting your balls off!_

Altan glowers at me. "Silence, Ree! _You_ forget that I can stop paying you at any time and then where will you be? Now, unless you want to lose your job, you will not talk for the rest of the night. Have I made myself clear?"

I hold his gaze for a long moment before relenting. "Crystal," I bite out and look away.

"Well, I can see you have your hands full," Drustanus cuts in, still grinning. "I think I'll make my way over to the food. It was a pleasure chatting with you both." The Aubericuses say their own goodbyes and he saunters off.

"What were you thinking?" Altan hisses at me as soon the man is out of hearing range.

" _Me_?!" I spit.

"Yes! I had it under control!"

"Clearly!" I mock. "Has that always been your plan? To sell me off to the highest bidder?"

Altan looks appalled. "No! I would never!"

"Then what the fuck was all that? You had no right!"

He huffs and rolls his eyes. "It was an act!"

I glare at him. "You still had no right!"

"I had no _choice_ , Rhy-… Ree. He had already expressed interest in you. I was trying to make you _less_ interesting!"

"By insinuating that I'm your _whore_?!" I growl.

"Yes! Drustanus likes to _break_ people. If he thought I'd already broken you, he would've ignored you. But now you've proved that it's the opposite."

As mad as I am, his words make a sick sort of sense. I saw the gleam in Drustanus' eye. _Shit buggering fuck! I'm an idiot!_ Before I can reply, Aurora inserts herself between us. "Not here, you two," she scolds. That's when I realize we've drawn the attention of those nearby. I cast a quick glance over the crowd and freeze. Between the clusters of people, I see Drustanus leaning against the far wall and watching us with a small smirk. _Double buggering fuck!_ Altan notices too and quickly schools his features, but the damage has already been done.

I spend the rest of the night following the Aubericuses around as before, all three of us adhering to our roles more strictly than before. We can't afford any more slips, so I am the perfect, most subservient bodyguard to ever guard a body. If Drustanus has suspicions – and I'm sure he does – my actions now probably won't alleviate them. But I can at least keep anyone else from questioning us.

Nothing too interesting happens after that. Both Aurora and Altan get asked to dance a few times, but never simultaneously. One of them is always with me… until they're not. They are led onto the dance floor, first one then the other, and I'm left alone. I lean against a pillar and hope no one approaches me. Keeping up my guise, I watch the siblings like a hawk. It's this very preoccupation that keeps me from seeing the tall woman weaving towards me until it's too late. I hear someone squawk in protest and look over reflexively. I can comprehend only silky black hair and olive skin before the woman is knocking into me drunkenly. I just barely keep myself from falling over and somehow steady the stranger as well.

"So sorry, dear," she slurs, patting my arm before ambling off. It isn't until she's out of sight and I've turned back to the dance floor that I feel something odd in the cuff of my left glove. Frowning, I dig my fingers under the leather and pull out a small, tightly rolled bit of parchment tied with a silky red ribbon. I glance about to make sure no one's watching before ducking behind the pillar and untying the bow. Unrolling the paper reveals small but bold text.

 **The Archon's Hat** ** _cordially invites you to a special midnight production of_**

 **Arlathan Falling**

 ** _One night only!_**

It's written in common. At the bottom is a tiny silhouette of a bird… and nothing else. I turn the paper over, but the back is blank.

 _Curiouser and curiouser…_


	12. Chapter 12

Notes: *crawls out of my cave, squinting at the light* Um, hello there friends. Long time no see… *coughs awkwardly* I actually have a legitimate excuse this time, though. I've been really sick for the past month. Like, "got two different flu strains one after the other and a sinus infection to boot" sick. But I'm feeling good again and I wrote my longest chapter yet to make up for it!

Since I know it's been a while, here's a quick synopsis of events thus far:

Rhynn spent a couple years world hopping before ending up back on earth. She got to see her family (yay!) minus Papa Torpin (*cries*). But then she found out Solas is a major dick and decided to go back to Thedas to kick his ass. She made it there and Leliana gave her shit cuz Leliana's a beautiful troll. Then Rhynn finds out about shit going down in Tevinter and volunteers. Off she sails to Kirkwall for an awkward, tension-filled reunion with Varric. But don't worry, they work it out. Fenris joins her on her Tevinter quest because we all know he's pretty much an icon to the slaves there. Isabela is, of course, the ship captain. I mean, who else would I pick? Come on. Everything's smooth sailing and Rhynn learns Tevene from Fenris (I'm pretty sure she's a polyglot). But then… (dun dun dunnnn) the ship gets inspected when they pull into port. Fenris has to hide and things seem to be okay, but then they find his hiding place and Rhynn panics and stops time. It's weird as fuck, but she's good at dealing and gets Fenris to a new hiding spot. Oh, and apparently people unfreeze when she touches them (just a little factoid of note). They all make it to their new friend Altan's house (frickin' mansion, tbh) and Rhynn is weirded out by everything. Then it's party time! Woo! But Rhynn can't keep her damn mouth shut and catches the attention of creepo magister Pale-lemon Dusty-Anus. Ruh-roh! Then some drunk lady bumps into Rhynn and leaves an invitation in her glove. An invitation to a play called Arlathan Falling at a place called The Archon's Hat. And now you're caught up! Hopefully I didn't forget anything important. That would be embarrassing!

Credit to spiderbrojenkins for Magnus, the brothel, and the Ferrymen. Your OCs inspire me!

Shout-out to fnuckle for being my beta and a beautiful human being!

Onward!

* * *

Chapter 12: The Archon's Hat

The carriage slows to a stop and Altan lays a hand on my arm. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," I reply, sounding more certain than I actually am. I gaze curiously out at The Archon's Hat, a three-story building set apart from its neighbors. Warm light spills out onto the dark street through its many windows.

"It could be a trap," Aurora frets, not for the first time.

"It could be," I agree.

"One of us should really go with you," Altan says, also not for the first time.

I rub the paper invitation between my thumb and forefinger, glancing up and down the street and into the shadows. I can't see anything, but that doesn't mean much. "I think I'm supposed to go alone," I tell them. "It may be a trap, yes, but if it's not then I don't want to scare off a possible ally. We're a little short on them as is." Altan has his fingers steepled beneath his nose, face pinched with worry. "Plus, if something goes wrong, I can just freeze time and run away," I chuckle. As soon as I say it, though, I know the joke is in poor taste. Both Aubericuses scowl at me. "Sorry, sorry…"

I finally open the carriage door and step out. A hand closes around my wrist before I can get much further and I turn back to see Aurora gazing at me imploringly. "Be careful," she warns and lets go. I nod and latch the door behind me. "A carriage will be back for you in two hours," she calls quietly as they start to roll away.

I wait until they turn and disappear behind another row of buildings. Then, taking a deep breath for courage, I head towards The Archon's Hat. There's a large brass knocker on the door and, in the gloom, it takes me a second to realize it's in the shape of a bird – same as the one on the invitation. I reach out and grab it, rapping it against its base three times. Mere seconds later, I hear the clicking of heels on the other side and the door swings open. Standing in the entryway is a very stunning red-haired woman, dripping with finery.

"Welcome to The Archon's Hat," she greets. "My name is Ilona." I stare, somewhat mesmerized, at her perfectly painted lips. Her voice is deeper than I was expecting, but not in a bad way. "Please, come in." She stands aside and gestures inward. I incline my head and step through. She closes the door and gestures for me to follow. "Are you here for the play or for _play_?" she asks, eyes sparkling as she glances over her shoulder at me. It takes me a moment to understand just what she's asking and then I'm spluttering and blushing.

"Ah, um… the play! I'm here for the play – Arlathan Falling. Yes."

She pinches her lips together and I suspect she's struggling not to laugh. _Great_. "Very good. I just need to see your invitation." I hurry to hand it to her. She looks it over and nods, giving it back to me. "Right this way, then."

My eyes dart to and fro as we walk, taking in the décor. It's… not what I was expecting. When Altan told me The Archon's Hat is a brothel, I imagined something more run-down and a lot less clean. I certainly didn't expect the rich leathers, crushed velvets, and smooth silks that adorn nearly every surface. It still has the vibe of a whorehouse – whatever that means – but there are very soft-looking pillows covering the furniture and I kind of want to sink down into them.

"Here we are," Ilona announces, holding another door open for me. Once I pass through it, she moves to take the lead again. The lighting in here is dimmer. Which is saying something, considering the rest of the place was already set to "mood lighting." I squint at the flickering glass sconces. _Gas?_

We round a corner and I realize where she's brought me. It's a large room with a tall ceiling and obviously not built for its current purpose. Clusters of mismatched furniture are scattered throughout the room. Here, a round bistro table grouped with a wingback and an ottoman. There, a sofa and two armchairs but no table. It's all very eclectic. _I love it._ A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips – and at my makeup – as Ilona leads me to a very plush looking chair with its own little side table.

I take my seat and Ilona leaves with a "someone will see to you soon." It's vague enough to worry me a bit. It isn't until after she's gone that I realize how very _un_ worried I've been since entering the brothel. No suspicion, no sense of wrongness, nothing. Even acknowledging this doesn't change it; I still feel at ease. My eyes aren't darting into the shadows, my hand isn't twitching towards a weapon, my muscles aren't bunched in preparation. _Maybe this will work out…_

 _Or maybe that's how they want you to feel._

That stiffens my spine a bit. No matter how comfy this damn chair is, it won't do to become complacent. I sit up a little and casually glance around the room. A few things catch my eye. There are panels added to the corners of the room, as if to bounce sound back to the audience. And a stage, obviously built more recently than the rest of the place, with velvet drapes framing it and gas lights at the front to illuminate the actors. I notice I'm seated towards the front and middle. Perhaps it's just coincidence, but it strikes me as odd.

I'm not the first one here; there are a few other patrons. One portly man with graying hair has a scantily-clad girl perched on his lap. It's a stark reminder of just what kind of establishment I'm visiting. It's also a testament to the life I lead that I don't even bat an eyelash.

"Hello and welcome," a soft voice to my left says and I whip my head in that direction, surprised to see that a girl in heels somehow managed to sneak up on me. Ignoring the wide-eyed look on my face, she starts transferring a glass of wine and a plate of snacks from her tray to my table. "I've brought you some food and refreshment. Is there anything else I can get you?" I'm definitely not imagining the note of suggestion and I wonder if it feels weird to offer someone sex with their wine and cheese or if it becomes mundane after a while.

"No thank you. I'm good," I reply and she gives a little curtsey.

"Enjoy the show!" she chirps and glides off, silent as before.

I turn my attention to the food. Plump grapes, soft cheeses, and small crackers with seeds in them. The wine is a red and that's about all I know; I never really could tell the difference between kinds. Idly, I start snacking. It's all very good and I quickly lose myself to observing the people coming in.

Soon enough, though, the lights dim even further and someone walks onstage. A man, wearing fine, richly colored robes and neatly trimmed facial hair. His complexion is a common one for this area: tanned skin, dark hair, dark eyes. His teeth gleam as he grins at the audience and lifts his arms in greeting.

"Welcome, my friends, welcome! It is a pleasure to have you all here tonight. As many of you know, this is a spontaneous tradition of ours – our little midnight plays. I am, of course, happy to see many familiar faces in the audience. We have a few newcomers, as well, and I am honored you have chosen The Archon's Hat for a bit of late-night fun." He winks, and even though I know it's ridiculous, I feel as if he's looking right at me. "As always, we have a new production for you. And, like many times before, I ask you to sit back, relax, and open your minds. Tonight we present a story you all know, one you have been taught from a young age. However, we tell it from a perspective you may not have heard before. I do hope you enjoy it. Without further ado, I give you… _Arlathan Falling_!" As the man steps aside and gives a dramatic sweep of his arm, the curtain goes up and the play begins.

Giving it the benefit of the doubt, I relax in my chair and watch.

I lose myself very quickly to the story.

It's… not what I expected. And I realize that's becoming a theme with this place. With a name like _Arlathan Falling_ , I thought I'd be watching non-stop Tevinter propaganda about how they brought down the mighty elven empire. What I get instead is the story of a young man witnessing the end of the world as he knows it. His horror when the magic goes away, his pain at the tremendous loss of life, and his confusion about why it's all happening. I witness his rise from the ashes, his efforts to gather those he can and rebuild, start a family, _live_. Then, as the years go by, I despair with him as his children age and die while he lives on. I rage with him at the injustice of it all. I pick myself back up and carry on, once again, just as he does. And finally, as he slips into _uthenara_ , I feel the same quiet hope.

 _Who wrote this? How did they find out the truth?_

It's not until after the cast take their final bow, after the curtain falls and the lights come back on, that I realize I've smiled and cried so much throughout the play that my makeup has started to crumble. _Shit!_ I keep my head bowed and decide to wait for the other patrons to leave. I still need to figure out why the hell I was invited here and I can't do that while a bunch of people can see my face crumbling off.

"Come with me," whispers the same soft voice as before. Yet again, she managed to sneak up on me and now she's leaning over the table, lips near my ear.

"Uh, sorry, I'm not interested," I stutter, nonplussed.

She snorts quietly and repeats herself, slightly more insistent. I realize she's not propositioning me and now feel like a complete tit. I quickly stand, head still down, and follow her through a narrow door to the left of the stage. A just-as-narrow hallway takes us behind it. I follow the girl as she winds through small groups of performers. I worry one of them is going to notice my face and comment, but they don't even glance my way. It's like I'm a ghost, gliding unseen through their midst.

We stop in front of a nondescript door and the girl knocks. A voice on the other side – a man's voice – bids us enter, and suddenly I'm worrying what this guy will do when he sees my face. My heart speeds up.

The girl opens the door for me but doesn't follow, closing it firmly behind me. I keep my head low but glance up from beneath my lashes. At first, the room seems quite small. A second look tells me it's decently sized, but full to the brim with racks of costumes. On the far wall is a long vanity covered in wooden mannequin heads wearing wigs, numerous bottles and jars full of beauty products, and more candles than is probably safe. Leaning against this vanity is the man from the stage, his teeth gleaming just as brightly as before.

"Chin up, Rhynn," he says by way of greeting, surprising the hell out of me. My head snaps up and I can feel that my mouth is hanging open. He frowns. "Whatever imbecile slathered that _mud_ on your face clearly had no idea what they were doing." I give a strangled half-laugh. The man smiles self-deprecatingly. "My apologies. My name is Magnus Maro and it is a pleasure to finally meet you." He holds out his hand. I go to shake it, but he lifts mine to his lips and presses a kiss to the back. Perhaps I should be creeped out, but it doesn't feel weird. It feels like respect more than anything.

"You obviously know who I am," I finally manage to say.

He laughs. "That I do! You have no need of a disguise here. Your current one cannot be comfortable, either. Here." He turns around and dips a rag in a basin of water, then hands it to me. "I will show you mine if you show me yours," he says, eyes twinkling. I'm not sure what he means, but I take the cloth anyway and start scrubbing at the thick layer of gunk on my face. Magnus waits patiently, watching intently as my scars are revealed. Again, I should probably feel creeped out, but I don't. When I'm finished, he takes the rag from me and drops it back on the vanity. Then, with a small smirk and a wave of his hand… he changes before my eyes. His facial hair vanishes altogether and sleek black eyebrows turn blonde and slightly bushy. Where once there were dark brown eyes, now there are blue – a bright cerulean framed by just the hint of crow's feet. Still smiling, Magnus reaches up and pulls his hair off – I now realize it's a wig – as well as the net beneath. His golden blonde hair sticks out in all directions, whether naturally or from the wig I cannot tell.

I laugh a bit hysterically. "What."

"I imagine this is a bit of a shock," he notes unnecessarily.

"A bit?! It's like watching Scooby-Doo and finding out the monster was just old Mr. Jenkins the whole time!" I throw my hands in the air dramatically, trying to make sense of everything.

Magnus scoffs loudly, looking highly offended. "I am _not_ old!"

" _That's_ the part you took issue with…?" I ask, slightly baffled. Magnus' affronted expression makes me sigh and rub my temples. "Sorry, I'm just very confused."

His smile returns. "A reasonable reaction." He goes over to one of the mannequin heads and carefully places the black wig on top. "I enjoy dressing up, playing different characters. I find it easier, and more amusing, to observe others when they don't know they are being observed. In fact, I've done exactly that to you."

"Wait, we've met?" My brows furrow in confusion. He nods. _Who…? Oh!_ "Ilona?"

Magnus smiles wider. "Yes, but we'd met before then."

My eyes widen in realization. "You were the drunk woman who bumped into me at the party!" I exclaim and Magnus chuckles. "This is crazy! Is there anyone I've met here who _wasn't_ you? What the hell is going on here?"

"A fitting question," Magnus replies, tone suddenly serious. "There is a reason I invited you, Rhynn, and it wasn't merely to see the play."

"I figured. So…?"

"Follow me." Magnus turns and disappears between two racks.

"Whoa! Wait!" I call, hurrying so I don't lose him. Magnus' chuckle is muffled by the costumes. I blindly grope my way through bunches of fabric until a cool hand wraps around my wrist and tugs me in the right direction. On the other side, I come face-to-face with my own reflection and nearly let out a shriek. Magnus grins and curls his fingers around the edge of the mirror. I hear a click and then he's swinging the frame away from the wall and slipping behind it. I blink and shake my head before following, wondering just what kind of weird version of Phantom of the Opera I've found myself in. Magnus shuts the mirror, plunging us into darkness.

"Are you kidnapping me so I'll help you make the music of the night?" I whisper, incapable of filtering myself because this is all so surreal _so what the hell, right?_

"What?" Magnus sounds genuinely confused.

I snort. "Don't worry about it."

A light flickers to life in the palm of his hand, giving us just enough to see by. He leads us down a stone corridor which turns into the top of a staircase. As we walk, I start quietly singing. " _In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came… that voice which calls to me and speaks my name… and do I dream again, for now I find… the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind…"_

"What are you singing?" Magnus asks, a strange note in his voice.

"Something from a musical," I reply, running my fingertips over the cold stone walls. "I feel like I'm in one of the scenes right now."

"A musical?"

I focus a bit more on my new acquaintance. "A play where people sing their lines."

Even in this dim light I can see Magnus' eyes light up. "Oh, what a novel idea! I wonder if the others would be willing to try…" He mutters to himself for a bit before apparently remembering I'm still here. "Where are you from? I've never heard of a musical before."

I snort. "No, I don't imagine so. I'm from… very far away. I'll leave it at that for now."

"Fair enough," Magnus shrugs, gliding gracefully down another set of stairs. _Just how far down are we going?_

"Magnus?"

"Hm?"

"Where are you taking me?"

I can hear the smirk in his voice. "You'll see."

"That's really not reassuring. This is all very ominous, you know?"

Magnus belly laughs. "I was _born_ to the theater, my dear! Drama is in my blood."

I smile at his enthusiasm. "Are you telling me you haven't always been a brothel owner?" I tease. The whole idea of prostitution makes me sad, but I can't judge Magnus. Sometimes your body is all you have left to sell, and I get the feeling he treats his workers well.

"Something tells me the public might be unsettled by a child running a whorehouse," he says with a chuckle. "No, Rhynn. I have been many things throughout my life. Brothel owner is simply the latest… and the last." He sounds almost sad. But then he perks right back up. "My first role was as the child of an actress. My earliest memories – and my fondest – are of my mother's traveling theatre troupe. The Court of Mockingbirds, they called themselves. A bunch of misfits… and some of the kindest people I've ever known."

 _Mockingbirds…_ "That's the bird on the invitation you gave me, isn't it? And the knocker on the front door."

Magnus smiles and nods. "Indeed. You're certainly a quick one." He turns his left hand over and holds the light near it. There, just under his thumb, is a tiny tattoo of a bird with its wings spread. A _mockingbird._ I smile too. We stay quiet then, for a little while, until we reach a very old door. "We're here," he announces, unlocking the door and waving me through.

Whatever ideas I had, whatever I thought this was – all of it vanishes in the wake of the truth. And the truth is something I never could have predicted. For what I find on the other side of that door is the entire reason I'm here. Not here at the brothel, but here in Tevinter. Stretched out before me is a long corridor with numerous alcoves. And tucked into each alcove is a bed. Many of them are occupied. Magnus leads me past them silently. The passageway ends in a larger chamber and the people in here are awake. There's a small cooking fire in the center. A man wearing something barely a step above rags is tending to a pot hanging over it. In the dim light, I can see a thin plume of smoke curling up toward the ceiling and disappearing through a hole in it. Still, the room smells strongly of woodsmoke, with undercurrents of unwashed skin. Magnus heads straight for the man.

"Welcome, my friend. You must be new." The man nods and Magnus starts taking off his jacket. He hands it to the man. "I will see to it that you receive a new set of clothing as soon as possible. Until then, please take this." The man starts thanking Magnus profusely, eyes turning glassy. He puts on the jacket and smiles. Magnus returns the expression, nods, and walks back over to me. "So, what do you think?"

I take it all in with wide eyes, still reeling. "You're running an underground railroad," I breathe, astonished.

"I'm not sure what a railroad is, but yes, we are underground." He's looking slightly perplexed.

My resulting giggle is short-lived. Some other emotion closes my throat. "No, no… I…" I cough. "Where I'm from, long before I was ever born, people helped slaves escape to freedom via something called an underground railroad. It really had nothing to do with trains or being underground; that was just a name. It was a chain of people willing to help escaped slaves on their way north. Conductors."

Magnus doesn't respond right away. "There are catacombs running beneath the whole city. It is a little-known aspect of Minrathous. We use them to smuggle slaves away from their masters," he tells me, watching my face closely.

"And you don't get caught?"

"We haven't yet. Like I said, most don't even know about the catacombs. So when a slave or two go missing, they start their search elsewhere."

I hum skeptically. "All it would take is one person seeing you, though."

"Please do not think I am overconfident," he chides with an arched brow. "We take every precaution. Even if we were to be spotted, they would never find us. The catacombs are like a maze. If you do not know the way, they may very well become your final resting place."

I mull that over for a moment. Then something occurs to me. "You keep saying we."

"We, the Ferrymen of Vergilius." He sweeps his hand around the room and that's when I notice. There are a few people bustling about in royal blue robes. Now that I'm looking, they stand out quite a bit from the rest. "The outfits are so slaves may recognize us. I doubt we'll be able to be so overt for forever, but for now we make ourselves known to those who need us."

As if on cue, one of the Ferrymen – a short woman with frizzy brown hair – comes rushing up to us, looking harried. "Oh, Magnus! Thank the Maker you're here! Tulia is in labor and it's too early! Please come!" Without waiting for a reply, she whirls and hurries down another corridor. Magnus and I both follow her without hesitation.

This corridor opens up into another room, much smaller than the previous. It is round, the wall pocked with holes. The holes are handmade and nearly all house their own urn. Some of them are broken. One section, near the back, has been commandeered for the storage of potions and other medicinal supplies. Sleeping pallets line the bottom of the wall, though none of them are occupied at the moment. In the center of the room, a pregnant woman is crouched, two other women helping her stay upright. I can tell right away that something is wrong.

"Lay her back on the blankets," I order, quickly removing my gloves and gauntlets and rolling up my sleeves as I kneel beside her. The others freeze, staring at me incredulously. "Please, I'm a doctor. Do as I say."

"Doctor?" one of the women asks, saying the word strangely.

"Healer," I bark in Tevene, starting to lose my patience.

"Do as she says!" The woman from before tells them and they gently help the pregnant woman lie down.

I gentle my voice and address her. "Hi Tulia, my name is Rhynn. I'm going to help you, all right?" She nods weakly and I notice her pointed ears with trepidation. _Oh please God let elves be similar to humans in this aspect._ I turn to the woman in the blue robes, the Ferryman – _Ferrywoman? Whatever._ "What's going on?"

"I don't know." She wrings her hands. "The baby is too early. I may be a healer, but I'm no midwife. I've never delivered a baby before." She's starting to panic, I can tell.

"What's your name?"

"What?"

"Your name."

"Ina. My name is Ina."

"Ina, fetch me warm water and some soap." She nods and hurries off. I turn back to my patient. "May I look?" She nods again and I hitch her dress up and assess the situation as much as I can. It's not much. Luckily, Ina returns quickly. I scrub my hands and send her off to get as much warm water as she can. Now somewhat sanitized, I feel comfortable using my hands to investigate further. Unfortunately, it's still really dim in this room and I can't see shit. "I need light!" Magnus is suddenly kneeling beside me, bright light emanating from his palm. "Thank you." He nods. I look again and see what I think is the top of the baby's head, but it's hard to tell. But what really catches my eye is the umbilical cord. _Fuck!_ I address the mother again. "Tulia." She focuses on me blearily. "The umbilical cord is being pinched. Your baby can't breathe. I'm going to reach up and try to relieve some of the pressure, okay?" I'm not sure she even knows what an umbilical cord is, but she nods. I figure _baby can't breathe_ is good enough for any mother.

I think the umbilical cord might be pinched between the baby's head and Tulia's cervix, so I gently reach my hand up and try to create a gap so that blood can flow again. The only problem is, what I'm touching is much too soft to be a skull – even a baby's. No, this is some other part of the infant and that means we have a much bigger problem than just a wayward umbilical cord.

 _Motherfucker!_

Outwardly, I stay calm but inside I'm starting to freak out a bit. If it was just a matter of dealing with breech position, I could take time to consider other options, like waiting for the baby to right itself or manually doing it myself. Unfortunately, this kid also isn't getting enough oxygen, which means I'm running out of time.

When Ina comes back into the room, I have her stay. Then I instruct one of the other women on how to keep the umbilical cord from getting too pinched. That taken care of, I pull Ina and Magnus aside and start speaking to them in hushed tones.

"I'm going to have to cut the baby out of her." Ina gasps and looks saddened. "But I don't have anything to stitch her back up with." Magnus tilts his head in confusion and possibly curiosity, but Ina's eyes light up.

"I can heal! I only know the very basics, but I may be able to help." She holds up her now-glowing hands.

I grin. "Brilliant! Do you have anything that can put her to sleep? If we don't knock her out first, she'll go into shock."

Ina frowns. "I'm sorry… I only have simple healing potions and whatever herbs I can scavenge."

Magnus chimes in. "I try to provide what I can, but there is only so much I can do."

"Can either of you use magic to do it then?" I ask hopefully. That hope is dashed when they both shake their heads.

"I only know glamour spells and some defensive magic," Magnus tells me regretfully.

I growl in frustration and mutter, "Son of a _bitch_." Then, a bit louder, "All right, come with me." I kneel in front of Tulia once more, offering the other woman quiet encouragement.

"What's happening?" Tulia asks, face pinched with pain and fear.

"Tulia, your baby isn't in the right position and it can't breathe. I need to cut you open." Her eyes widen, but then she casts them downward and nods. I reach out and tap her chin. "No, look at me." She glances back up and I hold her gaze. "I'm not going to let you die." Her eyes flit between mine, looking for something. When she finds it, it's like a small fire lights behind her eyes. She nods again, but it's more determined this time. I give her the hint of a smile. "Tulia, I need to put you to sleep while I do this. It's going to hurt and your instinct is going to be to fight back, so I'll need to have the others hold you down. Do I have your consent?"

"Yes." There's a steel behind it that I wasn't expecting. But perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised.

I reach over my shoulder and tug one of my throwing knives free. "Ina, grab me some alcohol. Something _strong._ " She rushes out of the room and I turn to Magnus, handing him the knife. "You can make a flame in your hand, right?" He says he can. "Good. When Ina gets back, douse that knife in alcohol and set it on fire. Get the flame as hot as you can." After that, I address the two women whose names I still don't know. "I'm going to need the two of you to hold Tulia down while I put her to sleep." I look at the one keeping the umbilical cord from being pinched. "As soon as you move we'll have to work fast. Understood?" They both nod.

Ina runs back in carrying a bottle of liquid. "Okay, let's do this!" I tell them. Both of the women beside me move to pin Tulia's arms down while I shift forward and cup the sides of her neck with my hands. "Tulia, look at me." As soon as she does, I press inward, pinching her carotid arteries. As expected, her eyes widen and she starts thrashing. I keep her head in place and the pressure steady. "It's going to be all right, Tulia. I promise." I focus solely on her, my patient, and tune out the rest. It feels like an eternity before she stops struggling, and another eternity before her eyes finally slip closed. I wait just a bit – long enough to make sure she's unconscious, but not long enough to kill her – before removing my hands and shifting my attention to her rounded belly. Without asking, someone lifts Tulia's dress up and out of the way.

"Alcohol," I demand and a bottle is pressed into my hand. I pour it on my hands and on her stomach, then set it aside.

"Knife." Someone hands me the throwing knife and I press it to the lower left side of Tulia's abdomen. It's no scalpel, but it's very sharp and, most importantly, not serrated. It suddenly hits me how out of my depth I am. I've delivered babies before, yes, but never by C-section. _How deep do I cut? What if I cut the baby?_ I violently shove down those thoughts and focus. _Okay, she doesn't look like she has an ounce of fat on her, so you won't have too thick of a layer to cut through. Do that first._ I have no idea if this is how I'm supposed to do it, but I push the knife in as deep as I think I can go without hitting any organs, then steadily drag it to the opposite side. That done, I slip my fingers into the cut and pull back the layers just enough to see. It's not exactly hard to spot the uterus, really. I can even see the baby weakly struggling within. _Okay, you got this._ I reach in and start cutting through the uterine wall. One of the baby's feet rolls toward my knife and I quickly retreat, only to dart back in once the danger has passed. Soon enough, I've cut a large enough slit to pull the baby through. I hand the knife to someone and reach in, gently pulling the infant out. I take only a second to assess the child: mild cyanosis, slight lethargy, a bit too small, male. Then I'm passing him off so I can take care of his mother. Other hands pinch and cut the umbilical cord. I tuck the rest back into her; she can pass the placenta on her own.

"Tell me what to do," Ina says, suddenly next to me, hands already glowing.

"Here." I point to the cut in the uterus. "Heal this first."

"Pinch it shut for me."

I reach in and hold the tissue together as best I can while Ina knits it closed with magic. It takes forever and yet only a few seconds. We repeat the procedure with the outer cut, leaving a faint pink line. Only then do I let myself think of Tulia-the-person again. Her face is very pale; no surprise there, with the amount of blood on the floor. I reach for her neck, hands starting to shake, and feel for a pulse. For one horrible instant, I don't feel anything. And then I do, faint and too slow, but _there_. Ina, who got up without me noticing, comes back with a bottle.

"Hold her head up for me," she asks, uncorking the potion. I crawl around and cradle Tulia's head so she doesn't choke. Ina slowly pours the whole bottle down her throat. "I have herbs that will help stave off infection and decrease her pain," Ina tells me as she stands. "I will make her some tea with them."

I just nod, exhaustion starting to set in. Forgetting about the state of my hands, I brush the hair off Tulia's forehead and leave behind a streak of blood. A warm weight comes to rest on my right shoulder and I glance up to find Magnus smiling down at me. I stand and he takes a step back.

"That was very impressive," he says plainly.

I shrug. "It was nothing," I reply, an automatic response.

Magnus points to the crying baby across the room. "Does that look like nothing?"

The two women who helped me are fussing over the newborn, cleaning him up and swaddling him in a blanket. The little boy is wailing loudly, but that's a good thing. It means he can breathe. He looks like a wrinkly potato, indignant at being uprooted. _That's right, little man. Go on and tell the world how angry you are._

I smile. "No, no it doesn't."

Magnus turns to me, expression suddenly solemn. "The catacombs are getting full. We need to get these people out of Tevinter, especially if we continue to rescue more slaves. I hear you have a ship."

"I have a friend with a ship," I correct with a chuckle. "Isabela would want me to make that distinction."

"Do we have a deal then?"

"We do." I stick out my hand to shake on it, forgetting momentarily that that's not really a thing here. But Magnus doesn't hesitate to clasp my still-bloody hand with his perfectly manicured one.

"Good," he declares, not letting go. "Our first order of business is to get you better makeup for your scars. Come along."

I can only laugh as he drags me out of the catacombs.

* * *

Notes: Google search history:

\- "cerulean"

\- "can you knock someone out with pressure points"

\- "arteries"

\- "birth complications"

\- "reasons for cesarean section"

\- "tevinter religion"

\- "cyanosis"

Ah, the lengths I go to for realism.


	13. Chapter 13

Notes: Heyyyy guyssss… So, yeah. Sorry again for the long wait. Here, have a pile of garbage to make up for it.

Since I know it's been a while, here's a quick synopsis of events thus far:

Rhynn spent a couple years world hopping before ending up back on earth. She got to see her family (yay!) minus Papa Torpin (*cries*). But then she found out Solas is a major dick and decided to go back to Thedas to kick his ass. She made it there and Leliana gave her shit cuz Leliana's a beautiful troll. Then Rhynn finds out about shit going down in Tevinter and volunteers. Off she sails to Kirkwall for an awkward, tension-filled reunion with Varric. But don't worry, they work it out. Fenris joins her on her Tevinter quest because we all know he's pretty much an icon to the slaves there. Isabela is, of course, the ship captain. I mean, who else would I pick? Come on. Everything's smooth sailing and Rhynn learns Tevene from Fenris (I'm pretty sure she's a polyglot). But then… (dun dun dunnnn) the ship gets inspected when they pull into port. Fenris has to hide and things seem to be okay, but then they find his hiding place and Rhynn panics and stops time. It's weird as fuck, but she's good at dealing and gets Fenris to a new hiding spot. Oh, and apparently people unfreeze when she touches them (just a little factoid of note). They all make it to their new friend Altan's house (frickin' mansion, tbh) and Rhynn is weirded out by everything. Then it's party time! Woo! But Rhynn can't keep her damn mouth shut and catches the attention of creepo magister Pale-lemon Dusty-Anus. Ruh-roh! Then some drunk lady bumps into Rhynn and leaves an invitation in her glove. An invitation to a play called Arlathan Falling at a place called The Archon's Hat. Turns out drunk lady was a person named Magnus Maro. So was lady at the door. Magnus likes disguises, clearly. He also ends up being part of a secret organization called the Ferrymen of Vergilius, a group working to free the slaves of Tevinter. While in the catacombs below the brothel, Rhynn helps deliver a baby via C-section. Magnus and Rhynn take care of some business talk.

*dramatic announcer voice* And _now_ on Healer…

* * *

Chapter 13: A visit… or two

 _Mycah sits across from me, a serene smile on his face. His long fingers pick at a bit of moss on the iron table top. The trees knit together thickly above us, and the bit of light that makes it through dances over his features. The sounds of a sleepy neighborhood trickle in, but that's okay; nature keeps us hidden._

 _I smile too, even though the chairs are cold and hard. I don't mind. They speak of time gone by and I appreciate their surprising elegance. Metal, heavy, cast into loops and curls. This small table and its two chairs will still be here long after I'm gone, incongruous to the surroundings._

 _"Penny for your thoughts?" Mycah teases, startling me a bit. His voice echoes strangely…_

 _"It's so peaceful here," I reply. "Timeless. Like we're in a little bubble, protected from the world…"_

 _Mycah hums. "I expect he thought so as well. I see why you chose it." At my confused look, he just nods towards an opening in the trees and says, "You're more right than you think."_

 _"You're not making any sense, Mycah," I tell him, standing up and moving to peer through the foliage. It's bright outside and it takes my eyes a minute to adjust. When they do, what I see only deepens my confusion. So many colors… swirling, rushing. Strings being plucked and twisted and looped. My eyes water and I have to look away. I blink, but it seems an afterimage is burnt into my retinas. "What…?" I whisper, looking to Mycah for some sort of explanation. None is forthcoming._

 _"How have you been?" he asks instead. My mind skitters away from the chaos it just witnessed, latching onto the subject change like a lifeline. I wander back to the table and take a seat._

 _"I…" I pause as I try to remember. How have I been? It suddenly strikes me that I don't remember how we got here. I ask him, but he just grins and repeats his previous question. My memories come in flashes, more feelings than images. "I think I'm okay?"_

 _Mycah chuckles. "You do not sound so sure."_

 _I cock my head, thinking. "Well… I think maybe I wasn't okay for quite a while. I remember being in a lot of pain, and not just physically either. But I'm better now, I think. I have a purpose."_

 _"Yes, and a noble one at that."_

 _"You approve then?"_

 _"Of course."_

 _I smile._

 _"Did you enjoy the play?" he asks._

 _My eyebrows furrow. What play? And then I remember; the Archon's Hat. "Yes, I did. Though it was surprising to see something like that in Tevinter." My eyes narrow. "But how did you – "_

 _"It is a true story," Mycah interrupts, blue eyes shining. "In dreams, I whispered it to one of the performers. Between performances, she wrote it down."_

 _"You…" I shake my head, lost. None of this makes sense. What the hell is going on?_

 _Mycah perks up and glances around. His eyes, lit from within, focus back on me with surprising intensity. "It seems we have run out of time." He smiles, as if laughing at a private joke. Behind him, bright light overtakes the trees. "Before I go, you should know you are being watched."_

 _"What?" He's not helping clear anything up._

 _"It was good seeing you again." All I can see are his eyes. The rest is white, bright light. I close mine, distressed._

"Mycah!" I shout, opening my eyes again. But… I'm not in the same place. The canopy above me is made of cloth, not leaves, and I'm lying on something soft.

 _A bed, you dumbass. You're lying on a bed._

I spread my hands across the sheets and take in my surroundings. It doesn't take long to remember where I am. _Tevinter. The Aubericus estate._ "Wow… what the fuck," I mutter, flipping back the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. _It was a dream, wasn't it…?_

I take care of my morning ablutions, still lost in my thoughts. Afterwards, I tug on a pair of pants and pad barefoot down the stairs.

 _Okay, so I must just be missing my brother – no surprise there – and feeling overwhelmed by everything that's going on. So I dreamt that the two of us were back in our childhood hideout. And the events of last night bled into it. Nothing strange about that! Except…_

"Well, look who's finally awake," drawls a very familiar voice. I glance up, eyes wide, to where a suavely dressed man stands beside Altan in the entry hall. "I heard you had quite the night."

"Dorian!" I exclaim, grinning from ear to ear, leaning forward on my toes. I want to hug him, but I'm not sure I'd be welcome.

Dorian rolls his eyes. "Well, do I get a hug or not?" He turns to Altan, consternation written clearly across his face. "She leaves without a single word, conveniently forgetting to mention that our dear Solas is none other than the Dread Wolf himself. And now she's back and do I get a letter, any type of correspondence whatsoever? No. I mean, after all that, the least I deserve is a – _oof!_ "

I wrap my arms tightly around his middle, burrowing my face in the collar of his robe. He smells like the best kind of affluence. I hear a soft chuckle before he returns the hug, cheek coming to rest against my hair.

"Hello, Rhynn," he murmurs.

"Hi," I smile, pulling back enough to see his well-groomed face. If possible, the mustache looks even more impeccable than before. His hair is different, though; an undercut with the top longer and tied with a bit of leather. "How are you?"

"Oh, now you care?" he teases. I pinch his side. "Hey!"

"I was a bit busy, you know!" I grouse. "Leliana had me locked up for, like, a week!"

Dorian looks shocked, then highly amused. "We have some catching up to do, I see."

I look at him strangely. "I thought the two of you were in correspondence. She didn't tell you?"

"No," he pouts. "I'm beginning to think no one tells me anything."

"Oh, don't be dramatic," I laugh and he glares.

"Why don't the two of you sit down and talk," Altan suggests, smiling. I feel bad for forgetting he's standing there. "I'll have some tea brought to you."

"Thanks, Altan," I reply. "That would be nice." He nods and walks off while I lead Dorian to a nearby parlor.

"How have you been, Dorian? Really." I curl up on one of the sofas as he perches on the opposite.

He laughs in a grim sort of way. "Oh, just splendid! I do so enjoy the constant assassination attempts."

I snort. "As if you don't revel in the challenge."

"It certainly is a challenge! Change doesn't come quickly, but I'm making progress, even if it is mostly of the 'making connections' variety." Dorian grins. "And what about you? What have you been up to these past few years?" I try not to react, but my smile drops and I look away. "That bad?" he asks, voice soft.

I shrug. "It wasn't all bad… I made it home." The last part comes out quieter.

"Home?" Dorian sits forward, head cocked slightly. "To your world?"

I can't help but smile again as I think of my brother and his family. Images from my dream try to sneak in, but I push them aside. _Later._ "Yeah. I saw my brother again. He has a wife now… and a daughter." I swallow the lump in my throat. "M-my dad died a few years back, though."

"I'm sorry, Rhynn," Dorian consoles, understanding. "I'm surprised you found _anyone_ you knew, though. What a lucky coincidence!"

I bite my lip. "Actually…" I proceed to tell him about the events leading up to my return to Earth, how I think I may have guided my translocation. Dorian listens raptly. Then, since I'm already on a roll, I tell him about the incident on the ship too. When I'm done, Dorian sits back, eyes wide.

"Incredible."

One of the servants arrives with tea, placing the tray between us and pouring us each a cup. The cups are tiny and delicate. I pick mine up gently and take a sip. _What I wouldn't give for a mug._

"Thank you," Dorian says to the girl. She curtsies and leaves.

"Yes, thank you!" I call awkwardly after her.

Dorian smirks and stirs some sugar into his tea. "You do realize how useful this power of yours could be?"

"Yeah. Only problem is I don't know how to control it."

"Yet."

I raise an eyebrow. "How exactly do you propose I go about practicing? Without anyone noticing, I might add."

His smirk only grows. "That is why I'm here, actually."

"To help me learn to control my new superpower?" I ask sarcastically. "Teach me, oh wise one."

Dorian gives me a flat look over the rim of his teacup. "Not exactly," he responds. "But it seems fate is in our favor for once." At my curious look, he continues. "I heard you made contact with the Ferrymen."

"You know about that?"

He raises an eyebrow as if to say, _'Yes, of course. Don't be ridiculous.'_

I purse my lips and nod. "Yes, just last night. You certainly get your information quickly."

"It helps to know the right people," is all he says in reply. "There's not much you can do on that front now, is there?"

I shake my head. "The Ferrymen will take care of smuggling the escaped slaves onto Isabela's ship. She'll be making multiple trips over the next few months."

Dorian looks troubled. "People will start to get suspicious. Does she have another reason for making such a journey?"

"Yes, she started making business deals the day we arrived," I laugh.

Dorian sighs and smiles. "Good, good."

A soft gasp comes from the doorway behind me. I turn to see who it is. "Oh, hey Fenris," I greet, mildly surprised. We live in the same place, but I hardly ever see him. "Care to join us…?" I trail off.

Fenris looks _pissed_. His hands curl into fists and his tattoos start to glow. His eyes never leave Dorian as he growls, "We need to talk."

Confused and worried, I stand and approach him. "I'll be right back, Dorian," I say, excusing myself. Fenris grabs my upper arm and drags me down the hall and out of earshot.

"That was a _magister_ ," he accuses, fingers digging into my bicep. It's starting to hurt.

"Let go, Fenris," I warn. He looks confused, then surprised at seeing his hand still wrapped around my arm. He lets go like I've burned him. "Yes," I finally answer. "He's a magister. How did you know?"

"You think I didn't learn how to spot one?" His tone is incredulous, and rightly so. I drop my gaze, feeling slightly ashamed. "What is he doing _here_?" Fenris hisses.

"He's a friend."

"So you're friends with magisters, hm? I should have known," he spits.

My hackles raise. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Like attracts like."

"Oh, are we making this about me now?" I'm raising my voice a bit and it only makes Fenris glare harder. "Is there something you'd like to say to me?"

I can see him grinding his teeth together. "No one should be able to do what you did."

"Yeah, and no one should be able reach into someone's chest and rip their heart out either," I yell, "but you don't see me giving _you_ the side-eye!" Fenris' lips press together tightly. "You think I haven't noticed you avoiding me?"

His eyes narrow and he takes a step forward. "I didn't ask for this!" he shouts back, gesturing at the lyrium tattoos on his arms, which are still glowing.

I see red. "What and you think I _did_?!" I get in his face. "You think I prayed every night to be torn away from my home, my _family_ , from everything I've ever known?! To be tossed from one place to another, over and over and fucking _over_ again!" My voice cracks and, to my horror, I feel wetness on my cheeks. The fight drains out of me. "Fuck…" I mutter under my breath, brushing away the tears. _Embarrassing…_

It seems Fenris' anger has deserted him as well because his shoulders droop and his tattoos dim. "I apologize. My temper got the better of me."

I sigh, nodding. "Me too… sorry."

Fenris glances over my shoulder, eyes narrowed. More in contemplation than anger, though. I turn to see Dorian standing in the doorway of the parlor, eyebrows raised. Then he just rolls his eyes and goes back into the room.

"Are you certain he can be trusted?" Fenris asks.

"I fought beside him for over a year. I trust him with my life."

Fenris hums.

I study him for a moment. "How are you, Fenris?"

He looks vaguely startled, but recovers quickly. "I am… restless," he confesses. I figure that's Fenris-speak for ' _I'm bored out of my fucking mind and feeling kind of useless.'_

"You know I didn't ask you along to just sit there and look pretty," I say and Fenris splutters a bit. "I have a feeling the Ferrymen could really use your help."

"The Ferrymen?" he questions.

"Some people I met last night. Mind if I fill you in later, though? I should probably get back to Dorian. Unless you want to join us?" I tease.

"I'll pass."

"I figured." I give him a farewell nod and head back to the parlor.

"Well you certainly know how to cause a scene," Dorian snarks before I've even sat down.

I cringe. "Fenris and I have a tendency to butt heads, I think."

"I thought that might be him," Dorian says. "His reputation precedes him."

"Which is why he's here."

Dorian arches an eyebrow, then nods in understanding. "Ah, I see. Smart."

"Thank you." I pause. "Now, what were you saying before?"

"Oh, yes. This isn't merely a social call."

"I'm wounded."

He ignores me. "I have an idea for what you can do next. How much do you know about blood sports?" Dorian asks, crossing one leg over the other.

"What, like making animals fight each other?" I take a sip of my lukewarm tea and grimace.

"Something like that, but here they use slaves. Though many don't see the difference." That catches my attention. "There are a few fights a week, where prized fighters are pitted against one another. The people come in droves to bet on their favorites. The more a fighter wins, the higher their rank, the more people put money on them."

"These fights… are they to the death?" I ask quietly.

"Not usually," Dorian answers, "though it's been known to happen. Most see it as a waste."

I scoff.

"I know," he says, shaking his head sadly.

"What does this have to do with me?"

Dorian gives me a look.

I suddenly understand. "Wait, hold up!" I start laughing. "You want me to be a fucking gladiator?"

He huffs. "Well, I don't know what in the world a _gladiator_ is, but I thought it was a good idea. You'd have access to otherwise unreachable slaves. With a few well-placed people, we'd be able to sneak them out without anyone the wiser!"

"And how do you propose we do that?" I challenge. "Won't the owners notice when their prized fighter goes missing?"

"Not if they think he or she is dead."

My eyes widen. "You want me to beat people within an inch of their life? Good God, Dorian!" I exclaim.

"They'd thank you," a deep voice says from the doorway. Fenris is leaning against it, looking uncomfortable. I shoot him a questioning look and he just shrugs. "I changed my mind," he tells me quietly.

"They'd thank me?" I ask incredulously.

"Maybe not at first," he concedes. "But eventually, yes."

I think about that and I suppose it makes sense. Still… "I'm not agreeing yet, okay? There's a lot to think about. But I'd be willing to hash out some details."

Dorian nods and the three of us spend a good amount of time discussing the whos and whats of the plan. I fill Fenris in on the happenings of last night; the Ferrymen would be an integral part of this operation. Fenris agrees to be the first face the escaping slaves see, even though he doesn't believe it will help anything. Dorian and I try to explain why it would actually be immensely helpful, but he still looks skeptical. Eventually, Altan and Aurora are brought in on our impromptu meeting. They agree to help out however they can. Altan will have to be the one to enter me in the fights, of course. We might raise some eyebrows with me not being a slave, but it's not unprecedented.

After a few hours, we have a workable plan. I don't say anything, but I've more-or-less made my mind up about the whole thing. As much as it turns my stomach these days, I have a knack for violence. And if I can use it to help people? Well.

The others filter out of the room until it's just Dorian and I again. There's a tension in the air that I don't understand, so I sit quietly and fidget, unsure what to say. Dorian is the first to speak.

"Why didn't you tell us, Rhynn?" he asks, sounding a bit sad. He doesn't have to clarify the question, either. I know.

I look down at the used cups on the table and scratch at my arm. "I… I don't know."

Dorian's expression hardens. "No, you don't get to do that. Tell me."

I meet his gaze and feel my stomach curl into knots. "I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice cracking for the second time today. I feel emotion clogging my throat. _God damnit!_ "I'm so sorry… I had no clue… I didn't know what he'd do. I swear, I didn't!" I start to cry and it kind of pisses me off. _Stop crying! You've already expressed enough emotion for one day!_ "I just thought he'd take down the Veil. I had no idea he wanted to commit fucking _mass genocide_ in the process!" I bury my face in my hands and try to reign in the tears. I jump a little when a warm arm wraps around my shoulders. Dorian draws me into his chest and lets me cry on his fancy clothes.

After a bit, he breaks the silence. "You're going to try to save him from himself, aren't you?" The question almost sounds rhetorical.

"Yeah…"

He sighs dramatically and shakes his head, but his tone is amused. "I'd expect nothing less from you."

* * *

Notes: Well, that was more dialogue than probably necessary. Yikes. But can anyone guess who Rhynn's dream visitor was?


	14. Chapter 14

Notes: Oh my gosh, you guys, I'm so sorry! I did not mean to take so long with this chapter. I've had most of it written for ages, but then life got kinda crazy. I'm getting married in 11 days, so I've been really busy getting ready for that. I'm also working full time now. So yeah… Anyway, here it is. I hope you enjoy it! Better late than never, right?

* * *

Chapter 14: Fighting the Good Fight

 _"…you should know you are being watched."_

I still remember my dream – vividly – weeks later, long after most dreams fade from memory. I remember _all_ of it, down to the sensation of cold seeping into my thighs from the metal chair. And that particular bit, where Mycah leaned forward and whispered those words, keeps running through my head on a loop. But the strange logic of dreams, so unwavering in sleep, has crumbled in the light of day. Though my slumbering mind didn't think twice about sitting in a childhood hideaway with my adult brother – who, last I checked, is still on Earth and possesses no dream-controlling abilities – I see the holes now. This dream was nothing like my forays in the Fade with Solas. In those, I was clear-headed and aware of myself. I _knew_ I was asleep. This dream felt more, well… dreamlike. And yet, as time goes by, I feel less and less sure it was _just_ a dream. I've been able to think of little else these past few weeks, which isn't exactly helpful.

"Rhynn!"

I snap out of my thoughts, blinking in the direction of the voice. Altan's, to be precise.

I cough, face flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

Altan rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. I can't say I blame him; this isn't the first time I've spaced out. "I was _saying_ , you won't be able to wear your armor."

I frown. "What? Why not?"

"Lower ranking fighters are not allowed armor. Or weapons, for that matter."

My brain, still muddled with thoughts of The Dream, takes a second or two to absorb his words. When I understand, my eyes widen. "You're kidding me. I have to pretend to punch people to death? This just keeps getting better and better."

"We don't have much of a choice," Dorian interjects. "Not if we want the plan to work."

"I know, I know," I mutter, disgruntled. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Nobody is asking you to," he assures, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

I sigh and rub my forehead. "Okay, let's go over the plan one last time."

Altan starts, explaining how I'm already scheduled for a fight tomorrow. I'll be starting in the lowest group, where armor and weapons aren't allowed. If I win, I advance to the next level. It was decided that winning my first match, and thus showing my strength, took precedence over trying to free the lower level fighters. Nobody has to say it, but I know part of the reason is the possible recruitment of freed slaves. Highly-trained fighters are more valuable and if they feel indebted to us, all the better. Strategically, I understand the move. It still makes my skin crawl.

After I've beaten my opponent – quite literally – they will be toted off to the healing room. There, they will "die" from their wounds. Thanks to Dorian, the Ferrymen now boast two skilled healers, one of whom will be waiting in the wings to make the diagnosis. Since not many care what happens to the body of a slave, smuggling our target down into the catacombs shouldn't be overly difficult. The other healer will be waiting at the Ferrymen headquarters, beneath the Archon's Hat. There, hopefully, the first face our escaped slave sees will be Fenris'. Meanwhile, back at the arena, a couple of Ferrymen will be collecting their winnings from the bets they placed on me. The money will be passed off to some of Dorian's people who will use it to purchase the failed fighters up for auction outside.

Of course, we can't have people getting suspicious. That's why we won't be able to save every person I fight. Sometimes I'll have to beat them and let them go back to their masters. Sometimes I'll have to lose on purpose. But not too many in a row; three strikes and I'm out.

"I think we've covered all we can tonight," Aurora chimes in, probably noting the palpable stress in the room.

"Agreed," Magnus nods, the black curls of his wig bouncing. "Let us all get some sleep. Tomorrow should be interesting, at the very least."

After our meeting disbands, Fenris – who has been mostly quiet throughout the whole thing – pauses by my side.

"Are you prepared?" he asks.

"Well, considering I have no armor to polish or weapons to sharpen… yeah."

"That is not what I meant." When I don't respond, he continues. "Be prepared to do what you must."

I scoff and shake my head. "How the hell do I prepare myself for that?"

"You let go of what's holding you back," he says matter-of-factly.

"Unleash the beast?" I mock. "Yeah, I did that once. Didn't much like the result."

His expression is unreadable. "Was it for a good cause?"

I glance away as an echo of shame runs through me. "I thought so at the time."

"You know it is this time. Perhaps that will make it easier," he suggests, then turns to face me fully. "Do not hesitate, Rhynn. These are trained fighters you face."

I give him a teasing smirk. "Are you worried about me, Fenris?"

"No," he snaps and stalks off. I chuckle to myself, feeling a bit touched despite his sharp retort. Then I follow him out of the room and head for bed. Tomorrow will be trying. I'll need all the rest I can get.

* * *

As I stare up at the large stone building in front of me, I come to the conclusion that maybe my assumptions about Tevinter are bullshit. Well, not the ones about them being a bunch of corrupt and power-hungry assholes. No, that one's true. I really need to stop assuming things about the style and architecture, though. To be completely honest, I was half expecting a coliseum. This… is just a big building.

 _That's almost disappointing, actually._

I follow Altan in. Someone else leads us to a private room and shuts the door after we enter. As soon as we're alone, Altan turns to me with a concerned look.

"Are you all right?"

I roll my eyes as I stoop to remove my boots. No armor and all that. "I'm fine. Stop fretting."

"I can't say I'm overly fond of this idea," he sighs. "I know you're skilled, but there are too many unknowns."

I study his face. The normally smooth skin is marred by lines of worry. His gaze is averted and he rubs the pendant of his necklace between two fingers. I notice only that it looks coppery before he tucks it back beneath his robes.

"I got trapped in the Fade once," I blurt, feeling an urge to reassure him.

Altan looks confused. "You were unable to wake up?" he guesses.

"No, I mean physically trapped," I clarify. Altan gives one hard, disbelieving blink. "I got a hole punched clean through me by a giant demon spider," I add, smirking a little.

"You… but that's… you – How are you alive?!"

I actually chuckle a little at that. The look on his face is too good. "Sheer dumb luck and this freaky time-controlling thing I have. There have been a few times I've survived injuries that would kill most people." I place a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Altan. I think it would take a whole hell of a lot to do me in."

He's quiet for a few moments as he stares into the middle distance. Then he focuses back on me and rests his hand over mine, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Be careful anyway."

We exchange quick smiles, but then the door is opening and it's back to business.

"You may take your seat now," the man says to Altan.

Altan fixes me with a stern look. "I expect you not to disappoint me," he says firmly, but his eyes tell me 'good luck.' I nod and he departs, leaving me alone with Burly. The man has me walk in front of him down the hall. There's only one door in this direction. I have to wait while he unlocks it before moving forward.

 _Are they keeping people in or out?_

I find myself facing another door, this one made out of bars.

"In," the man instructs and I reluctantly enter the cage. That's what it is, too. A _cage_. Like I'm some animal! I have to resist the urge not to glare. _This is fucking sick!_ I flinch when the door clangs shut behind me and the lock slides into place.

The other side of the cage is clearly another door, but one made of solid metal. I can't see anything, but I can hear the dull roar of a crowd. I start to sweat, feeling trapped. I have very little idea of what awaits me and there's no way out of this box. Not until someone else lets me out. I can feel Burly watching me and it makes the back of my neck prickle. A muffled voice rises above the din; an announcer, most likely. My heart bangs against my ribcage and my throat tightens. While my words to Altan were true, they were not a reflection of how I feel.

I feel terrified.

There's a clanging, then the sound of metal on metal, and the solid door begins to lift. Flickering orange light streams through the crack, spilling across my bare feet. The noise of the crowd gets louder, both by virtue of their own excitement and the lack of a barrier.

"… servant of Altan Aubericus. Unusual. Some might say an unfair advantage. We shall see!" The announcer sounds almost cheerful, as if it's just a day at the races and not a blood sport event. The door continues to roll upwards and I can see an expanse of hardpacked dirt. Further, and I see a ring of braziers, the source of the orange light. Because of them, it's hard to make out faces in the crowd. It reminds me of being on stage, back on Earth when I performed with an orchestra. The weight of a hundred stares, but all you can see are outlines and rough impressions.

I finally let my eyes fall to the opposite side of the arena and get a first look at my opponent and…

 _He's… he's just a kid!_

Alarm and dismay course through me, followed quickly by a healthy dose of dread. The person tentatively stepping into the light can't be more than fifteen. _I don't wanna fight a kid!_

His shoulders are hunched and he glares up at the audience through stringy hair. He looks downright scrawny, even for a teenager. _Who the fuck put him here?!_ I feel my fists clench with indignation as I finally move. The boy's gaze darts to me, zeroing in on my face with the kind of intensity I witness only too often. For a moment, I can see myself through his eyes – an experienced fighter, with the scars to prove it – and can't blame him for taking a step back.

This is worse than I ever could've imagined.

Without much warning, the boy lets out a cry and charges me. The voices of the crowd rise with his, eager for blood. Unprepared and still overwhelmed, I take too long to react and he slams into me. Without a strong base, I topple over. The kid lands on top and immediately catches me with a right hook. Sloppy as it is, my head still snaps back. Instinct kicks in and I grab him by the hair, distracting him enough so I can shove his right shoulder. The blow sends him sprawling on his back beside me. I quickly scramble to my feet and take a few steps back.

I let the boy get to his feet as well. From behind that curtain of hair, his face contorts with suspicion. He starts slowly circling, keeping about six feet between us. I follow his movements, turning in place. _Come on, kid. Make a move._

I can see this attack coming from a mile away. As I block the blow and stagger him, I wonder if maybe I can add another positive aspect to this whole shitty experience. Maybe I can give him a sneaky little lesson in fighting. _He clearly needs it._

"Is that the best you've got?" I taunt, sounding like an action movie cliché. I scoff at myself, but he takes the bait. His moves are just as telegraphed as before. "Stop being so obvious. I can see what you're going to do hours before you do it!"

The kid growls in frustration, charging at me. I step to the side at the last second and clothesline him with my arm. He hits the dirt with a gasp. "Don't get angry, kid. You're just making it worse. Calm down and focus." Suddenly, his leg sweeps out and catches me across the back of the knees. They buckle and I go down, landing on all fours beside him. I chuckle, surprised, but then fingers are yanking hard at my braid. "Ow! Fuck!" If it didn't hurt so much, I might be proud of him for fighting dirty.

Another arm snakes around my neck, tightening around my windpipe. I turn my head to the side and ram my elbow back into his diaphragm as hard as I can. He immediately lets go, wheezing. I spin on my knees and tackle him. Lesson time is over, I think.

Climbing higher, I pin his arms down with my knees. If I can just get my hands around his throat, I can end this without bloodshed. He's stronger than he looks, though, and manages to free an arm to hit me in the ribs. I curse and slip to the side. He scrambles out from underneath me and makes it a few feet before I grab his arm and wrench it back. As I do, I plant a foot against his shoulder blade. Despite the din of the spectators, I somehow hear as his shoulder dislocates. He cries out in pain and my stomach lurches. _I'm sorry._

The boy doesn't put up much of a fight after that and I quickly get him in a chokehold. His one good hand feebly scratches at me, but I can almost feel the fight go out of him. I wonder if he thinks I'm going to kill him. Against my better judgement, I find myself whispering softly in his ear. "It's going to be okay. I promise. It's okay, it's okay…"

 _Make it believable, Rhynn. Make them buy it._

They need to think I've choked him to death. If I let go now, there's a chance they'll see him breathing. His other injuries aren't believably fatal. I only have two choices. If I let go now, he returns to a life of slavery. But… if I keep this up… the healers should be able to resuscitate him. _Should_ being the key word here. I have no guarantee. This could be his only shot at freedom, though. _And he's just a kid…_

I tighten my grip.

Discretely, I press my fingers to his jugular, feeling for a pulse. When I find it, it's faint and fading. I wait until there's nothing, then slowly release my hold and let him sink to the ground. I don't hear the crowd anymore; all my senses are turned to the teenager passed out in front of me.

 _He's running out of time._ _Do something!_

But what can I do?! I'm stuck in this arena! Unless…

I close my eyes and focus. Passively, I notice someone grabbing my arm and lifting it up. My face scrunches up in concentration, teeth sinking into fleshy bottom lip, cold sweat prickling across my brow. _C'mon, Rhynn!_

My head throbs sharply and everything goes silent. The hand around my wrist is stiff. I slowly open my eyes and smile sharply. My ears buzz with the lack of input. No more cheering crowds, no more crackling flames. I glance at a brazier to find the flames frozen in place.

 _It worked!_

I reach up and pry the fingers off my arm. As soon as I'm loose, I search the man for keys. There's a ring on his belt; I grab them and run for the nearest door. It takes a frustratingly long time to find the right key and I growl furiously under my breath. Finally, the door gives way and I rush through. A series of corridors greets me on the other side and I bite back a scream. I scurry down them, reaching dead end after dead end. Empty rooms, lounges, sparsely furnished rooms, storage rooms – but no infirmary. My heart pounds desperately against my ribs and my head pulses along with it.

After too long, I find a passage that leads somewhere. It loops around, doors scattered along its length. I check each one. Some have people in them, paused mid-action. None of them are healers, though, so I keep going. An eternity later, I find it. It's small and, from what I can tell with a quick glance, poorly stocked. A man and a woman, both in plain robes, hover over a cot. On the cot is a figure, more bruise than person. In another situation, I might feel obligated to help them, but not today.

"Fuck, fuck, what do I do?" I mutter agitatedly, pacing around the room, eyes searching for a clue. Something – _anything_ – that I could use to communicate. _Please!_ I can feel my hold on time slipping.

As if guided, my eyes fall on the bloodied body on the cot. _Oh._

Quickly, I grab a clean bandage from one of the shelves and smooth it out on a nearby table. Then I return to the cot. I can see now that the person is a woman, two thick scars running down her cheek. Her nose is broken and bleeding.

"Sorry about this," I whisper, using my fingers to wipe up the blood on her upper lip. I hurry back over to the bandage and smear a short message on it.

ARENA NOW HURRY

I tuck the bandage securely into the hand of one of the healers and hope to god these are the Ferrymen ones I was told about.

My legs fly under me as I run back to the arena. I know, somehow, that my time is almost up. I can feel it, like a vibration in my skull. I've just barely returned the keys to the announcer's belt and placed my wrist back in his grip before time resumes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!" The crowd cheers, but I couldn't give a flying fuck. My eyes are glued to the figure crumpled in the dirt. He looks so small…

 _I killed him. Oh God, oh fuck! Please be okay!_

My thoughts continue in a jumble of pleas. Guilt tightens my throat, makes it hard to breathe.

"What a gruesome start to for this newcomer!" the man beside me crows with delight. I wish he was on the ground instead of that child.

Hand still tight around my wrist, he guides me toward the same door I recently came out of. Before we reach it, though, two people burst through. Two _healers._ The woman makes brief eye contact with me, looking baffled. The announcer grumbles under his breath, looking displeased at their presence, before yanking me through the door. Over my shoulder, through the gap, I can see the healers gathering up the body of my opponent and rushing him off.

 _Please live…_

I'm lead into the changing room from before and left there. Numbly, I begin putting my boots back on. My side twinges as I bend over to tie them. The door creaks open but I don't glance up. A warm hand comes to rest on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"Well done, Rhynn," Altan whispers.

I shake my head and grit my teeth. "I had to kill him, Altan."

"What?"

"They would've seen him breathing. It was his only chance," I croak, choking on my guilt.

Altan looks disturbed. Rightly so. "I'm sure the healers will be able to revive him," he tries to reassure.

"If they can't, then I just killed a child," I spit.

Altan holds my gaze. "We won't know until he makes it to the Archon's Hat."

I stand up quickly. "Let's go then."

Altan's touch becomes restraining. "Wait, Rhynn. We have a problem?"

I frown at him. "Another one?"

"You weren't supposed to fight that boy. Those in charge were well aware of your skill. You were meant to fight a more challenging opponent," he explains, looking troubled. He's rubbing at the pendant of his necklace again.

"What the fuck happened then?" I snap at him.

"Palaemon Drustanus is here," Altan replies, and it seems like a non-sequitur until I connect the dots. "I'm afraid he has more connections than I previously assumed."

"Mother fucker!" Altan's eyes widen. "If that kid is dead, I'm going to gut him!"

"Keep your voice down!" he warns. "We must tread very carefully, Rhynn, at least until we know the extent of his power. But for now, let us leave this place. I think I've had about enough of it."

I agree wholeheartedly and follow him out. Unfortunately, fate is rarely so kind and none other than Dusty Anus himself is waiting for us by the exit. He pushes away from the wall and saunters over.

"Your bodyguard fought well tonight, Aubericus. So brutal! Eager to prove herself, I suspect. I look forward to seeing how she fares against someone more experienced." His eyes flit to me for a second, but it's enough to make me want a shower. Maybe two. "I know you don't have anywhere for her to train, my friend, so I thought I'd offer the use of my resources."

 _Go fuck yourself on a rusty blade, you prick!_

"That is very kind, Drustanus," Altan replies with a generous tilt of the head. "I shall consider it."

"Good, good," Palaemon grins jovially. "Do let me know soon, won't you? She'll be in the arena again in a few days. I'd certainly want my fighter at her best, if I were you." _Don't roll your eyes!_

"Of course," Altan nods politely. "If you will excuse us, though, I have some business to attend to at home."

"I'll let you go, then. See you soon, Aubericus." As he leaves, he brushes past me and I feel fingertips graze my hip.

 _He's gonna start losing body parts if he keeps that up._

"Let's get out of here," Altan whispers, tugging me by the arm.

I spend the next several hours pacing the Aubericus estate, worry eating away at my insides. It isn't until nearly dawn that a messenger shows up at the door.

"He's alive."

I nearly collapse with relief. As the first rays of light stream through a crack in the curtains, I crawl into bed and pass out.

* * *

 _I can hear the roar of the crowd through the metal gate. It matches the rush of blood through my veins and I smile with teeth. My hands clench and unclench and I pace my small cage._ Let me out, let me out, let me out! _I'm ready to fight. I'm ready to bruise my knuckles and feel the zing of adrenaline. The gate clinks and grinds as it rises and the firelight is a beacon to my ragged soul. I duck out into the arena, eager. Too eager. The people cheer and I soak it in. I puff my chest out, confident in my abilities. I'm good at fighting._

 _Across the arena, my opponent crawls out of their cage. They stick to the shadows –_ since when were there so many shadows? – _but I can just make out a hunched form. Their eyes gleam in the firelight, and I recognize the hunger in them. Slowly, they creep forward, but the shadows cling. I begin to notice something about the movements of my opponent, though. They're… wrong. Too jerky. They stop a few lengths away and stand up straight. I finally get a good look at their face and gasp. Two jagged lines run horizontally across her face, pulling at the left eye and corner of the mouth. At my look of shock, she tilts her head and smiles. There's blood on her teeth._

 _"Rhynn," she whispers, but it's not the voice I was expecting. It's a man's voice; a soft and familiar one. I blink and the doppelganger is gone, along with the arena. Grass begins sprouting from the hardpacked dirt and I can hear water trickling over stone._

"Rhynn." The voice is behind me now. " _Vhenan_ , you are dreaming." There's only one man who would call me that. I turn around and there he is. It feels like years since I last saw him, though it's probably only been a little over a month.

"Solas," I greet, smiling involuntarily. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yes, me in the Fade? A shock indeed," he chuckles. With a fond look, he reaches out to touch my face. Inches away, he hesitates, beginning to frown. Before he can drop his hand, I rush forward and wrap my arms around his waist. He tenses at first, but soon returns the embrace, pressing his nose into my hair. "How are you?" he asks quietly, almost tentatively. Slender fingers play with the end of my braid.

"It's been a long day," I sigh, burrowing my face deeper into his vest and breathing him in.

"I hear fighting children can be quite exhausting."

I shove at him without pulling away. "Don't be a dick," I spit, pissed that he'd even joke about such a thing. Not enough to stop hugging him, though. That probably says something about me.

Solas hesitates before moving his hand to the back of my neck and rubbing. "I apologize. That was insensitive of me."

"Yeah, well…" I bury my face in his robes and sigh again. "You have people spying on me, then?"

He just hums noncommittally and lowers us both to the ground, drawing me into his lap. "You are helping them. Draw strength from that," he tells me softly.

I give a half-hearted scoff. "You sound like Fenris." _Just more poetic._

"Fenris?" he asks.

"A friend."

He hums again. We sit silently for a while before he continues. "You are not naturally violent, but circumstances have required you to be so, over and over."

"Are you talking about me or yourself? Sorry, I lost track," I tease.

"Don't be a dick," he retorts in that crisp, purposeful voice of his and I bust out laughing.

"That just sounds ridiculous coming from you," I say and he chuckles.

"That was rather the point."

 _Oh._

I lean up and kiss him then. What starts soft and tentative soon becomes something hungry and desperate. _It's been so long._ We fall right back into it anyway. Kissing Solas is as natural as breathing. _Speaking of which…_ I pull back, gasping for air. His hands caress my face as pupils, blown wide, flicker over it. He's whispering something in elvish, too quick and low for me to hear. He looks wrecked. I probably match. But he just presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. _Not here_ , we agree silently. _Not yet._ After a time, after our heartbeats slow, I nestle back into his arms and rest awhile.

"There was a time that may have been true about me," I say, continuing our conversation from earlier. I trail my fingers over the wrappings on his legs. It feels comforting and familiar. "I'm not so sure anymore," I admit quietly.

His lips press against my temple, silently encouraging me to go on.

"What," I swallow, "what happens when you start enjoying it… just a little?"

Solas doesn't answer right away, but that's reassuring. He's giving my question real thought, as he always does.

"When you are the one best suited for the task… the only one," he explains carefully, "you do it anyway. There is no shame in enjoying a good fight, Rhynn. Do not fret. You are not the type to revel in the misery of others."

" _'Ma serannas_ ," I whisper, relieved.

"Anytime, _vhenan_."

* * *

Notes: Wait, what?! Was that a Solas appearance? Wow, took me long enough.


	15. Chapter 15

Notes: I just realized I forgot to cross-post this chapter. Here's the note I had for it on AO3: So... long time no see... Sorry for taking like a year to update, guys. That's... bad. Even for me. And after all that, I'm giving you a really short chapter. But it's something, right? Plus, I'm working on the next chapter. Ya'll: "Right... we've heard that one before..." Me, sheepishly hiding under a rug: "I'm the wooooorst..." Anyway, I have such a backlog of reviews that I'm probably not going to respond to them all. Just know that your comments were read multiple times and deeply appreciated. I love you guys! Now that I've expressed my one (1) emotion for the day, let us carry on.

* * *

Chapter 15: Correspondence

Rhynn,

I am sorry to say I still have nothing to report in the search for Solas. It's almost as if he has ceased to exist. There are signs, though. It is only a matter of time. Meanwhile, I have returned to Val Royeux to see to my duties as Divine. While they are different from my duties as a spy, they are no less difficult. The people are scared and look to me for comfort and guidance. I have worked in the shadows most of my life. It feels strange being so public. But I digress…

Josie wrote to me the other day. She says Antiva feels untouched by the troubles of the rest of Thedas. That's not to say they don't have a plethora of their own problems. Josie's already had to thwart two assassination attempts. I'm still trying to convince her to let me go there and protect her, but she will hear nothing of it. It's so aggravating! But she is stubborn. I hope that aspect of her personality will aid her in the coming months. She wanted me to tell you that her attempts to garner support have produced some results. It is not enough. Too many Antivans wish to ignore all thoughts of war. At least any war they feel does not concern them. That is all I have to tell of Antiva for now. I promise to keep you informed.

Aila and Cullen check in regularly. They are having trouble reasoning with both the Orlesian nobles and the Dalish. Mercenaries hired by the nobles continue to attack the clans, but they fight back fiercely. My scouts have also reported something very… odd. Unknown elves dressed in strange garb have been spotted conversing with the Dalish. The way they describe it… Rhynn, they sound like the elves from Mythal's temple. What do they want from the Dalish? Are they recruiting? Could Solas be behind this? I thought he despised the Dalish. Perhaps you could shed some light on this.

I am worried about Aila. Surely you noticed she is not the same woman of a few years ago. That is understandable, of course. But each time I see her, she seems more drawn into herself. I have asked Cullen, but he is tight-lipped and fiercely protective of her privacy. It is infuriating! I only wish to help her! Perhaps I am not the right person for that. I hope you do not mind, but I taught her how to write in your language and have been encouraging her – subtly, of course – to reach out to you. I know you already have much to deal with, but perhaps you could take the time to converse with her. What she may need now is someone who understands what she is going through more than I.

Lastly, Varric has informed me that Captain Isabela made port a few days ago with a ship full of very precious cargo. Good work. I take it, from this news, that things are going according to plan. Have you been able to gather any information we can use? The sooner we can tie up the loose end that is Tevinter, the better.

Best of luck, Rhynn.

Leliana

* * *

Leliana,

I expected as much, but it's still disappointing to hear. And frustrating. Solas continues to visit me in my dreams. So close and yet so far, you know? I realize I should be using those times to try to coax information out of him, but I can't bring myself to. It's the only peace and quiet I get anymore. Besides, anytime I try, he either deflects or just leaves. Then I don't see him for a week. Damn him.

Hopefully our friends will have some luck soon. We need all the allies we can get. On that subject… have you given any thought to the Qunari? They could make very powerful allies. I know you may not want to hear this after their attempted invasion, but give it some thought? I may be getting ahead of myself here, but Par Vollen isn't too far away. Perhaps, after I am done here, I could travel there. It would be dangerous, no doubt, but what do you think?

I think I know what you mean about Aila. She seemed less sure of herself at Haven. No worries, Leliana. If she decides to write to me, I will do what I can to help her.

As for the strange elves visiting the Dalish, I may have some insight. Your spies here have been reporting some very interesting news to me. Apparently, servants and slaves are quite gossipy amongst themselves. Word of disappearances has spread quickly. Elven slaves and servants are vanishing without a trace. And only elven ones; that's the key! The upper-class assholes aren't saying a peep about it to one another, but it has them worried. Sacrifices have increased. It's almost like they're trying to quell the elven population. And I can't do a damn thing about it. Not any more than I already am. I think Solas is behind this – both the strange visitors and the disappearances – and if so, he's got more resources than either of us imagined. He's definitely recruiting, Leliana, same as us. And God help us, he's doing a better job of it. The only problem is, if he keeps stealing away slaves at this rate, he's going to fuck up my operation. He's drawing too much attention. The magisters are going to be out for blood soon and I'm afraid I'll be caught in the crosshairs.

Speaking of garnering attention, I've managed to do so all on my own, unfortunately. A magister by the name of Pale-Demon Dusty-Anus (just kidding, his name is Paleamon Drustanus but he can bite my shiny metal ass) has decided I'm interesting. What joy. I've been forced into attending practice fights at his estate. When I say practice fights, I mean real fights that happen to be outside the arena. Oh, and they're also against his slaves. He's testing me, I know it! Looking for a crack that he can pry his grubby little fingers into. Meanwhile, he gets his rocks off watching me beat the shit out of his slaves. Sadistic bastard. I'm being quite literal, too. He watches every practice with some poor slave girl draped across his lap, doing god-knows-what to him. And the whole time, his eyes stay glued to me. I've never felt so disgusted in my life, Leliana! I've also never wanted to kill someone more than I want to gut that pig. You can take my word for it: when the shit hits the fan, he'll be the first to go, and by my hand.

Now for some better news. Dorian is still gathering supporters (quietly, of course) and the Ferrymen have increased in number as well. Altan, Aurora, and I still struggle to find friends among the Laetan social circles, but we think we have a lead. An Octavius Cornelius. Technically, he's an Altus, but Dorian informs us House Cornelius has recently fallen into disfavor. Something about a sibling that went crazy? I don't know the details yet, but it sounds promising. Altan has made arrangements for us to visit soon. Nobody's going to look twice at two social outcasts making contact. Don't worry, we'll be careful until we can be more sure of his allegiance.

Between arena fights, Altan insists I practice with my newfound powers. It's… not going well. At all. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to stop time at will. He and I agree it must be extreme stress that triggers it, like on the boat and during my first fight. I suppose it's nice to know I'll have it in a pinch, but it would be really nice if I could learn to control it. I can already think of a hundred different things I could accomplish. I mean, what's the point of a superpower if I can't do anything with it? I don't know… maybe I'm being greedy. It's saved my life and others' lives numerous times. It just feels so right, you know? Like things are finally falling into place. Too bad everything else is going to hell in a hand basket.

Keep me posted, Leliana, and best of luck to you too.

Rhynn

* * *

Dear Rhynn,

How are you? Leliana tells me things are going well in Tevinter. I wish I could say the same for Orlais. Maker damn these Orlesian nobles! Why must people fear what they do not understand? And why must they lash out at it? Does Solas have any idea there are families – children! – dying for his cause?

Forgive me. These last few weeks have been trying. Oh, who am I trying to fool? These last few years have been awful! After Corypheus… after the Avaar, the Deep Roads, the Qunari, and finding out about Solas… I am so tired, Rhynn. How do you do it? You have been through more than all of us combined, yet you still find the strength to fight. You have no idea how much I admire that about you. I envy it a little bit, too. All I want to do is go home, but I do not even have that anymore. Not really. My parents cannot even look me in the eye anymore. Their perfect, beautiful daughter… disfigured. I have become a disgrace to them. It does not matter that I saved the whole Maker-forsaken world! I am ugly now, and married to a commoner. As if beauty and nobility are the most important things in life. At least I have Cullen's family. They are a blessing. I have never known such kindness from strangers. They had never met me before, and yet they welcomed me with open arms. Quite literally! Let me tell you, getting hugged by that many people at once is slightly intimidating. Maybe, when this is all over, Cullen and I will settle down near them and raise a family. I am tired of fighting. I never asked for any of this in the first place. I want to spend my days tending a garden, even if I only have one hand to do it with.

I hope you do not mind my venting to you. Don't feel obligated to respond! It helps just writing it all down. Leliana has been hinting that I should. Please don't tell her I said this! I know how she likes to be sneaky and helpful. And… I feel embarrassed just writing this next part, but I feel lonely. I have Cullen. Yet, while he is my closest confidant and so very dear to me, there are some things I feel I cannot discuss with him. During Inquisition days, I had all my friends

nearby. And each of them was so vital to me. They each supported a different part of my soul. But now they are scattered to the far reaches of Thedas, and away from me. Oh, listen to me! I sound so selfish. You must think me pathetic. But I grew up surrounded by other people. I do not know who I am without that. Cullen is already so worried about me, I did not want to worry him further by unburdening this on him. I feel bad enough doing so to you.

I apologize for the poor penmanship. I am still becoming accustomed to your written language and my left hand was the one I used to write with. Of course.

Thank you for listening,

Aila Trevelyan

Addition: Do you really think we can change his mind? Solas, I mean. – A.T.

* * *

Aila,

I'm good. Thank you for asking. I'm sorry the Orlesians are being little shits. In my experience, being afraid of the unknown is a pretty universal trait. It's also been my experience that people tend to lose that fear if you arm them with knowledge instead of weapons. I used to be terrified of bees and spiders (tiny ones, too, not the huge ones you have here). Then I learned how much good they do and they stopped being quite so scary. Maybe if you found a way to make the Dalish seem less scary? The bigotry might run too deep, but it's worth a try, right?

Also, I just realized I compared the Dalish to bees and spiders. I need to work on my metaphors.

Your exhaustion is completely understandable, Aila. Don't downplay what you've been through. You have every right to be as tired as you are. And I'm not any stronger than you. I was not well for a long time because of the things that happened to me. I heard voices, talked to myself, the works. It wasn't until I came here and found you all that I started to get better. So don't think for one second that you're not strong as hell. After everything you've been through, I'm not surprised you're feeling the effects of it now. It doesn't make you weak. It took me a long time to figure that one out for myself, so take my word for it, ok?

Forgive me for saying this, but your parents are dicks. I'm really hoping you're writing in a sarcastic tone, because whatever they've said to you is bullshit. I'm guessing you know that, but I needed to say it anyway. I'm glad Cullen's family has been so welcoming. Hold onto them with both hands.

You have no reason to be embarrassed. Seriously. It makes sense that you'd feel lonely. That said, I should mention that feeling lonely even when around other people can be a sign of depression. I don't know how much you know about such things, but I'm here if you have questions. Or just to talk. I'm just here. And I'm not the only one. I know everyone else would be happy to hear from you. Have you tried writing to them as well? Also, you may not want to burden Cullen, but maybe consider at least telling him some of this? I think he'll understand.

As for Solas… I have hope. He's a very logical person normally. But he's also rather single-minded. However, here's something that may give you hope, too. The other night, I asked him why he's taken so long to enact his plans. He couldn't look me in the eye. He didn't give me a verbal answer, but I think I know. He's hesitating, Aila. He's unsure. Yes, I believe we can still change his mind.

Good luck in Orlais. I hope you'll write to me again. It was good hearing from you.

Rhynn

* * *

Rhynn,

You must use those times to your advantage! No one but you has any contact at all with Solas, let alone private conversations with him. You are our key to finding him. I can send out as many scouts as I'd like, but if he does not want me to find him, I won't. You, on the other hand. You know him better than anyone. Use this! I know you don't enjoy manipulating anyone, but there are greater things at stake here. For all our sakes, you must.

The Qunari. Yes, they would make very powerful allies, if they don't decide to kill us all instead. Still… Let me think on it. I may know of an approach we can take to give us the best odds of success. Meanwhile, I have sent representatives to all non-hostile lands to speak for our cause. I must admit, it is strange handling this side of things. Diplomacy… I suppose it has its merits.

I'm glad you agree that Solas is behind these happenings. Have you confronted him about it? He may not know he is endangering you. I would bet on him easing off if he found out. As for this Drustanus… Tread carefully, Rhynn. It sounds to me as if he is suspicious of you. With the attention of a magister already on you, slaves noticeably disappearing is only going to exacerbate the situation. Perhaps it would not be ill-advised to lay low for a while.

I will look into this Octavius Cornelius and send anything I find your way. Best of luck at your social engagement. And do not forget to have fun!

Leliana

A suggestion for your practice: Have you tried creating stress to trigger your powers?

* * *

Leliana,

I'll be careful, I promise. And I'll do my best with Solas. You're right, I really don't like manipulating him, but I agree that in this case it's necessary.

We haven't tried triggering my power yet. I'll talk to Altan about it, see if he has anything more to say. Hopefully we can produce some results.

Tomorrow we visit the Cornelius family. I'll have more information for you afterward.

Until then,

Rhynn

* * *

Notes: Qunari allies? Ruh-roh, Rhynn. Who's this Octavius fellow? And what the flub is Solas up to? Don't endanger your lady, Solas! Let me know what you think!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Bad Timing

Octavius Cornelius is an imposing man. He takes up all the space in the room when he enters. Head held high, hands clasped before him, the pads of his thumbs pressed into a steeple. With austere robes and a carefully sculpted beard, he looks every bit the stereotypical 'Vint. I can only hope he isn't.

"Altan, Aurora, welcome," he says formally when we enter the parlor, standing to greet his guests. There's no real warmth to his voice and his expression gives nothing away. His eyes flick over me, then just as quickly dismiss me as uninteresting.

 _Good._

I take my place as bodyguard, standing off to the side to silently observe.

"Thank you," Altan replies, taking a seat on a velvet settee.

Aurora sits beside him, carefully arranging her dress around her. "Yes, thank you for having us. Your home is as lovely as I remember."

"Then my servants are doing their job," he states matter-of-factly. "I must say, this is a most unexpected visit. I am a busy man. Let us get to the heart of things, shall we?" Altan and Aurora exchange worried glances. Octavius' lips twitch. If I hadn't been watching, I would have missed it. "Why are you here?"

The Aubericus siblings have a silent exchange, then Altan clears his throat. "We seek allies," he says plainly. It's a gamble, but not one I disapprove of.

Octavius lifts one sharp, black eyebrow. "Don't we all? But for what purpose, I wonder."

"These are times of change and strife, Octavius," Aurora replies cryptically. "Like-minded individuals must band together if we are to see our ideals reflected in the culture."

"I have very few political connections." There's the faintest hint of mockery to Octavius' words and Aurora visibly bristles. Then, with a shake of her head, she regains her composure. Our host's own head tilts, watching.

"I am aware," Aurora finally says. "But…" she hesitates, "our numbers are few enough as is. Even one more would make a difference."

Octavius' eyes narrow imperceptibly. "Risky, Aurora," he scolds. "You've practically given yourself away."

Aurora lifts her chin in defiance. "Have I, though?"

My eyes flick back to Octavius to gage his reaction…

And I can't see.

 _I can't see!_

I blink rapidly, trying to dispel the sudden blackness, but it won't go away. My heart skips and my breath gets caught in my throat. _What's happening?!_ I reach up and rub at my eyes. Maybe there's something in them…?

"Ree?"

I focus on the voice. _Altan! Help me!_ I reach out my senses to him and the darkness shifts. At the center, a pulse of light blooms and swirls. It's like a flower, or a tiny sun, and tendrils of color creep through it. It seems vaguely familiar, like a dream of a dream. With a shudder, the edges ripple outwards, pushing back the dark. Altan's face comes into focus, but it looks weird. For one, it's not moving. For another, it's warped. I glance around and frown. Actually, everything's that way. Like looking through an old windowpane when it's raining. In fact… I reach out and am not that surprised when my fingers bump into something. I press my hand to it. It's smooth, like glass, but strangely warm. It vibrates subtly beneath my palm and… hums? It's not any particular note. More like a bunch of them all at once, and somehow not discordant. It gets under my skin, making the hairs rise. It feels _good._ Exhilarating. The heavy, electric air right before a storm. I step forward, wanting to get closer. The glass fractures, pieces shifting with my changed perspective. One side of Altan's face is now higher than the other. I study it with curiosity and dull horror.

"Weird, isn't it?"

I gasp, whirling around. Standing slightly behind me and to the right is my _brother._ Well, whatever creature it is that's posing as my brother. It has to be the same being that sat across from me in my dream weeks ago. It's just too much of a coincidence.

"It's you!" I exclaim.

He smiles serenely. "Hello again."

 _Who are you? Why are you here? Why do you look like Mycah?_ "Where are we?" I ask out loud, quietly, hand still pressed to the barrier.

Not-Mycah's smile widens and his eyes flash. "Between."

"Between? What the hell does _that_ mean?" I voice my frustration at his vague answer, but he's gone. And I can no longer feel the barrier humming against my hand.

"Ree! What is going on?" Altan sounds worried. I turn my head to look at him again and sway in place, dizzy in the wake of my hallucination. Altan steadies me, leading me to sit on the settee. The velvet crinkles, oddly loud. "Can you focus? Look here," he instructs, lifting a finger in front of my face. I swat it away irritatedly.

"I'm fine, Altan."

"You don't look fine," he hisses, gripping my forearms. "You look ill."

"Stop fussing," I grumble.

"Stop giving me a reason to fuss!"

"You're such a mother hen!"

"I am _not!_ "

Aurora clears her throat loudly and we both jump a little and look at her. Her eyes are wide and slightly panicked. She raises her eyebrows in a silent _Shut up!_ Behind her, Octavius is watching us shrewdly, a smile turning up the corner of his mouth. Not a pleasant smile, either… It's just a touch too malicious for that.

Altan and I blanch. Clearly, we'd both forgotten about the stranger in the room. Bodyguards don't talk to their bosses the way I just talked to Altan. _Fuck._

Aurora sits forward, preparing to stand. "Perhaps we should go. My brother's guard appears to have fallen ill."

Octavius holds up a hand, eyes locked on me. "Not so fast. This just got interesting."

"I must insist - " Aurora begins, but he turns his piercing gaze on her and she cuts off mid-sentence.

He then addresses me directly for the first time. "You may as well tell me. I'll figure it out on my own eventually."

I let myself look him in the eyes. The jig is up, anyway. I drop the act, let it slide off of me like water. Leave it in a puddle on the floor as I step forward, head held high. "Awfully arrogant, aren't you?"

"Is it arrogance if I have the skill to back it up?" he challenges, one sharp eyebrow rising. His gaze travels down to my feet and back up again. "You're no servant."

I smirk a little. "No, I'm a bodyguard."

He looks vaguely amused. "You're not that either."

I raise my chin in defiance. "Then what am I?"

He tilts his head and studies me for a long moment. I try not to squirm.

"Floundering," he finally concludes.

 _Ooh, shots fired!_

I can't help but laugh a little. I mean, he's not wrong. "That's a fair assessment," I say with a grin, moving closer to him and holding out my hand.

Both eyebrows go up as he stands and shakes my hand.

"Rhynn," I tell him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He doesn't return the sentiment. Just tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "That name sounds familiar."

That takes me by surprise. How does an altus in Tevinter know my name? Just _how many_ people know about me now? Surely I'm not _that_ interesting…

"Oh?" is all I manage to stutter out.

"Perhaps you've heard the rumors coming out of Ferelden," Altan speaks for the first time in a while, "about a traveler from another world?" Apparently Altan has jumped on the All-or-Nothing Bus.

Octavius' eyes actually widen at that. "Truly?" he asks me, sounding shocked. I nod. He turns introspective, one hand reaching up to stroke his beard. After a few moments, those clever eyes snap back to mine. "Let's say I believe you… Why me?"

"Like I said," Aurora responds, "we need allies."

"I'm asking Rhynn," Octavius says, still looking at me.

I ponder his question. He wants the truth, and he's cunning enough to know when he's not getting all of it.

 _All aboard the All-or-Nothing Bus!_

"Your family may be ostracized, but it's still powerful. You have resources we desperately need," I explain.

He nods like I simply confirmed what he already knew. "What about the arena? There's more to this than subverting the government, otherwise you wouldn't bother with the fights."

I glance at Altan and Aurora in turn. They look worried, but ultimately willing to let me call the shots here. I take a steadying breath before I answer. "We're smuggling out the slaves that lose to me."

Octavius' eyebrows furrow. "They say you're brutal in the arena…. that you rarely leave your opponent alive."

"That's certainly what we want them to think," Altan says with a little smirk.

"You've got healers on the inside," Octavius concludes almost immediately and I nod. Something in his expression changes then. I didn't even realize there was any warmth to lose until it's gone. "What about the elven slaves? How have you pulled that off? I lost some just last week. Rather foolish of you, to steal from the family whose resources you profess to need."

Altan, Aurora, and I exchange meaningful glances. Aurora is the one to reply. "That's… not us."

Octavius searches for any hint of falsehood in our faces. Satisfied, he asks the obvious follow up. "Who then?"

I hesitate, chewing on my lip.

"You've already given me more than enough rope to hang you all with," Octavius points out.

I frown. "Yeah, well, this isn't just about us…" I rub at my temple, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on. Finally, I sigh and admit, "Fen'harel."

Octavius barks out a laugh, startling me a bit. "You're really going to try to blame it on a _fairytale_?" His tone is scathing. "How gullible do you think I am?"

"It's true," I reply simply, but now I can't wait to see the look on Solas' face when I tell him someone called him a fairytale.

He stares me down, but the longer he does so, the wider his eyes get. " _You're serious_ ," he whispers, shocked.

"Serious as syphilis!" I chirp.

" _What?_ " he scoffs, then flicks his fingers at me and shakes his head. "Nevermind." He pinches the bridge of his nose and groans, waving dismissively at us with the other hand. "Get out. I need to think on this."

"Excuse me?!" Altan asks incredulously. "We're not going without some assurance you won't immediately betray us!"

I lay a calming hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Altan. We'll leave him to his thoughts."

Altan turns his incredulousness on me. "Rhynn!"

"Trust me?" I ask in a hushed voice.

After a tense moment, he relents. "You had better be right about this, Rhynn. Yours isn't the only life on the line," he reminds me, as if I'm not acutely - _painfully_ \- aware of that fact. I grit my teeth and a muscle in my cheek jumps. He and I are going to have a lot to talk about when we get home, not the least of which being my trippy vision. With one last, heavy stare, he and Aurora head for the door. I linger, giving Octavius an assessing look. He does the same, lips pressed tightly together.

"Something big is coming," I tell him, then suddenly ask, "Are you close to your family, Octavius?"

He seems perplexed at my apparent non-sequitur, but nods anyway.

"I would do anything to keep my family safe," I tell him quietly. Grief - old and new - bleeds through and I close my eyes. Names and faces flash behind my lids, more than just Dad and Mycah. After an eternity, I open them again, pinning Octavius beneath the weight of too many souls. "Wouldn't you?"

Something familiar flickers across his expression then and I find myself less worried. With a slight incline of my head, I follow Altan and Aurora out.

* * *

Notes: The metaphors were strong with this one.


	17. Chapter 17

The tunnels that run beneath the streets of Minrathous are extensive. They twist and turn, crossing over themselves in a befuddling sort of pattern reminiscent of a writhing pile of snakes. There are tales, circulated amongst the lower classes, of foolhardy adventurers who enter the catacombs and never return. Presumably, they never found anything of value in that labyrinth. They simply lost their way and died down there, alone and starving. Perhaps, for most, that is true. But maybe, for a few, something else happened. Maybe, somewhere deep below, where the tunnels meet in an old cistern, they found something. Not gold or jewels; something far more precious than that. Something that made them _stay_.

Though the catacombs are common knowledge to Minrathous' citizens, few realize their potential. To the upper classes, they are sewage tunnels with ancient bones in the walls. To the street rats, they are a place to sleep at night and to hide when the slavers roll though. But to the Ferrymen of Vergilius, they are everything. Only the Ferrymen know the full extent of the catacombs. Twists and turns; destinations and dead ends. They are all at the Ferryman's disposal. While others stumble and lose their way, the Ferrymen weave in and out with ease. No maps exist of the catacombs, and that is certainly by design.

Fenris doesn't consider himself a Ferryman, but he learns the patterns all the same. When the slavers come - and they will; he knows it in his gut - he'll be ready.

He's had plenty of time to study, after all. They only need him when a new group of slaves is brought through. Even then, he just has to stand there and look heroic. Or something like it. It's the same every time. The newly-freed slaves are brought into the cistern. Their gazes dart quickly from one thing to another until they finally land on him. Fenris has seen it a hundred times by now: the widening of their eyes, the dawning realization, the softly emitted gasps. It happens every time, no exceptions. Because somehow, inexplicably, they all know of him.

Objectively, Fenris can understand how this came to be. He remembers how fast rumors spread amongst the servants. News of his own escape would have blazed through like wildfire. Subjectively, however, it has left him reeling. Why would they care? Who in their right mind would look up to _him_? When these slaves - these people - look at him with such wonder… it makes his stomach twist. Because he's just some asshole that got lucky. He doesn't deserve their admiration.

And he especially doesn't deserve their hero worship.

"Where are we going, Fenris?" a young voice behind him asks.

" _We_ are not going anywhere," he grumbles back, navigating the tunnels with the map in his head.

"Did - is… did _she_ give you a mission?" the kid - Emerys - persists.

Fenris can feel a headache coming on. Even so… _She_? "You can say her name, you know," Fenris teases with a slight smirk. The situation was fully explained to Emerys, but they're still terrified of Rhynn after the beating she gave them.

"Um…" Emerys flushes dark enough that Fenris can see it even in the low light. "Are we scouting?"

Fenris rolls his eyes at the very smooth transition. "No. Go back to the cistern."

"But I want to go with you," they whine.

"You can't. Go back, Emerys." Fenris can feel his hands clench into fists and wills them to relax. He's never been good with kids - or anyone, really - but what's he going to do? Throw a punch?

"I don't want to!"

 _Maybe._

"Do as I say," Fenris growls menacingly. He has important work to do and he really can't afford to be distracted by babysitting right now.

Emerys' face turns nearly purple with anger. Fenris knows their anger well by now. The kid explodes at every little thing. He can understand why. Doesn't mean he's not tired of it. "Fine!" Emerys shouts and whirls around to stomp back down the tunnel.

Fenris rolls his eyes again and keeps walking in the opposite direction. _Whatever._

The footsteps behind him halt. "Uh, Fenris…"

" _What?!"_ He's had just about enough. If Emerys doesn't get their ass back to the cistern _immediately_ -

"Th-there's someone coming…"

All thoughts of chewing the kid out are forgotten. Fenris spins on his heel, sword already half out of its sheath. There's someone hurrying down the tunnel towards them, lantern swinging, casting strange shadows on the walls.

"A good lantern can light even the darkest of paths!" the person calls. Fenris relaxes. A code phrase; it's a Ferryman.

"I always carry one with me," he replies.

"Fenris, you're needed back in the cistern at once," the Ferryman says once he's close enough. His expression is grave.

Fenris frowns. There weren't supposed to be any more newly freed arena slaves. What could they possibly need him for? "Can't it wait?" he asks.

The man shakes his head. "I'm afraid not… It's Rhynn. She…"

He looks almost in shock, Fenris realizes. His stomach plummets to the floor as he grabs the front of the man's robes. "She _what?_ " he snarls in the Ferryman's face. _Don't be dead, Rhynn. You dragged me back to this cursed place. You do not get to leave me here!_

"She lost."

Fenris doesn't understand. That wasn't the plan. She wasn't supposed to lose; not this late in the game. Today she was supposed to fight the reigning champion, some qunari that's held the title for a year or so. But she wasn't supposed to _lose_! She was supposed to kill him and secure her place. Did she change her mind? Fenris knew she'd had reservations - they'd talked about it just last night - but he didn't think she would forgo the plan.

"Is she dead?" he finally manages to ask around the sudden lump in his throat.

"No," the Ferryman replies, "but she is gravely injured. Please, Fenris, come."

Fenris releases the man's robes - he didn't even realize he was still gripping them - and hurries back toward the cistern. Fast walking turns into jogging, jogging into running, and so on until he's sprinting down the tunnel.

He enters just as they're dragging Rhynn in. Fenris' stomach churns. She looks… bad. Like one big, bloody bruise. She's conscious, but barely. Enough to swat away the healers already trying to tend to her. That is a good sign at least.

"What happened?" Fenris demands, pushing gawkers out of the way so he can reach Rhynn.

One of the healers supporting her looks up at his query. "The qunari champion won."

"Clearly," Fenris deadpans. " _How?_ "

The healer's expression turns sour at his tone, but he can't bring himself to care. She opens her mouth to reply to him, but they're interrupted by a wet cough.

"He was better," Rhynn slurs and a trickle of blood runs down her chin.

"You can control time," Fenris points out, angry. Rhynn just laughs. It's not a nice laugh and quickly turns into coughing.

"That's enough questions," another healer insists sternly. With Fenris' help, they lay Rhynn down on a mat. He quickly gets pushed out of the way as the healers swarm around her like bees. He watches, feeling helpless, as they try one thing after another. Nothing works and her condition remains the same. No better, but also no worse. Fenris notes curiously how sluggishly the slashes on her arms and torso bleed. How her lungs rattle with each breath, but she doesn't seem to be suffocating. One of her arms is twisted around the wrong way. She should be screaming from the pain. Instead, she just seems tired. Perhaps, Fenris thinks, _weary_ is a better word.

Just as Fenris is about to start in on the questions again, there's a loud crack and a flash of green. The healers hovering over Rhynn are blasted back several feet. Fenris has his greatsword out and ready in the blink of an eye. Every person in the room stops to stare as the very air itself seems to wrend in two. A fissure appears a few feet away from Rhynn. Fenris watches, disbelieving, as it widens and something pushes through. A man - no, an _elf_ \- wearing gleaming golden armor emerges from the rift and zeroes in on the bloody woman on the floor.

"Oh, _ven-ahn_ ," the elf sighs, pain breaking his voice as if _he_ was the one beaten to within an inch of his life. And that word… Fenris thinks he's heard it before.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Fenris demands, tattoos glowing fiercely in the dim light of the cistern. The lyrium thrums under his skin like a second pulse. He will rip this man's heart out without a second thought should he dare lay a finger on Rhynn.

A dim corner of Fenris' mind wonders when he became so protective of the damnable woman.

But it's as if he didn't speak. The man's eyes don't wander from Rhynn's prone form. From the floor, she gazes blearily back up at him.

"Come to finish me off?" she asks wryly, then laugh-coughs.

The strange man moves closer to Rhynn and Fenris rushes forward, intent on putting himself between the two. Halfway there, he crashes into a barrier. Shimmering waves ripple outward from where Fenris made contact. Frowning, he presses his hand to it and pushes. There is no give.

"Rhynn!" he calls, now ramming his shoulder into the barrier. The stranger kneels beside her, reddish-brown locks falling over one shoulder, hand reaching out... Fenris growls and activates the lyrium in his hand, digging his fingers into the barrier. Slowly - too slowly - they push through. He's not going to make it in time. Panic choking him, Fenris glances up again… and stops.

 _Oh. I'm a fool._

The elf is caressing Rhynn's face. Gently, tenderly… like a lover. And she's letting him.

 _So this is Solas._

Fenris isn't happy about it, not by any means, but his panic fades. Based on what Rhynn has let slip, he doesn't need to worry about the man hurting her. The fact that he's somehow in the middle of their resistance headquarters, however, _is_ worrying.

Solas whispers to Rhynn. Despite the trauma to her face, she has a stubborn set to her mouth. Fenris supposes she's being difficult about something. The thought relaxes him a bit. Rhynn being stubborn is certainly nothing new and rather reassuring right about now.

But then Solas is scooping Rhynn up in his arms and turning back towards the rift.

"What are you doing?" Fenris calls, lyrium aglow once more.

Solas finally deigns to speak to him. "Rhynn requires healing more advanced than what she would receive here. I am taking her with me."

Fenris looks to Rhynn. She gives him a slight nod, so he lets his tattoos dim. Solas' eyes miss nothing. He turns around again and steps through the rift. Just as they're passing through, Fenris hears Rhynn ask, "Since when d'you have hair?" And then the rift closes behind them with another crack. Simultaneously, the barrier dissipates.

Around him, the cistern erupts into chaos, but all Fenris can think of is how he's going to explain this to the others.


	18. Chapter 18

Ch. 18: Is this it, then?

My mind is blissfully blank for a few moments after I wake. Dust motes swirl through a beam of sunlight above me and I disperse them with a soft sigh. The air smells of sweet herbs and I can hear the muffled sound of running water somewhere nearby. The sheets I lay between are cool and soothing on my newly-grown skin.

 _Oh… right._

The previous day comes flooding back. Pain and blood, Solas and more pain, then finally relief and exhaustion. Just as before, fighting my body's self-preservation in order to heal me felt worse than getting the injuries. I hadn't been hurt that bad since being stuck in the Fade, and all because of one person. _Crooked Horn. What the fuck kind of name is that anyway?_ I grit my teeth and sit up in bed, flinging aside the covers and studying myself. There isn't a trace of yesterday's trauma. _It was yesterday, wasn't it?_

Just as I'm starting to panic over how long I may have been asleep, a tall, beefy woman walks into the room. I blink at her, unused to seeing an elf with such a physique.

" _It is good to see you awake!"_ she says in elvish, voice surprisingly soft.

" _Where is Solas?"_ I ask, squinting suspiciously at her.

She looks perplexed for a half a second. " _Ah! Fen'Harel is a busy man. He asked me to look after you."_

"Did he now?" I mutter sourly under my breath. To her, I ask, " _And what is he doing now?"_

She shakes her head, looking genuinely regretful. " _I am not privy to such information. But I do have food for you!_ " She sets a tray on a small table by the windows, then unlatches a pane to let a breeze in. " _You must be starving._ "

As if her words unlocked something, my stomach gives an impressive growl, clenching painfully. I can't remember the last time I ate. I was too nervous before the fight. Forgoing any dignity I may have left, I scramble out of bed and over to the table. I don't even bother to sit. I just start shoveling food into my mouth, barely tasting it. That said, what I can taste is fucking delicious. I glance out the window and down onto a courtyard overflowing with flowers. It's quite gorgeous.

The burly elf woman politely clears her throat. " _I will leave you be. I believe those clothes in the corner are for you."_ I look where she's pointing to see a stack of neatly folded clothing on a chair. " _The bath is just through that door,"_ she nods in its direction. " _I will check on you again in a while."_ With that, she disappears through the main door, leaving me alone.

I quickly devour the rest of the food, swipe the clothes up, and head into the bathroom. I snort loudly at the ridiculously opulent bathtub and opt for a quick scrub. I don't have time for a nice, long soak; I have some _exploring_ to do.

* * *

" _You have led the enemy directly to our gates,"_ Abelas says through gritted teeth.

Solas uses all of his considerable willpower to keep from rolling his eyes. " _Rhynn is not the enemy."_

" _Because she is your lover?"_ Abelas asks incredulously. " _That only makes her more dangerous, not less."_

Solas takes a deep breath to soothe his growing anger. " _Rhynn is not a danger to our people."_

Abelas tilts his head, studying the other elf. " _I do not believe she would harm any of us…"_ Abelas pauses, seeming to deliberate something. " _She makes you doubt yourself, Solas. The true danger she poses is to our cause."_

Solas' eyes flash, but then he calms. It is not like Abelas to speak so plainly. He cannot deny the truth in his words; Rhynn has always made him second guess his decisions. " _I can concede you may have a point."_ Abelas looks relieved, until Solas continues. " _But I believe, with time and explanation, she may see things our way."_

Abelas frowns deeply. " _Surely you do not believe that. I only met the woman once and I can tell you she is strongly possessed of her own opinions."_

" _She is the most stubborn creature I've ever had the pleasure of knowing,"_ Solas replies with a soft smile and faraway eyes. Then his gaze sharpens and focuses on the other man. " _But I know her and I know her heart. She will understand. I just need to explain things to her."_

Solas turns away to look out the window and Abelas knows he has been dismissed. He casts a sad glance at the wolf's back and whispers, " _I hope, for your sake, that you are correct."_

* * *

This place is fucking huge.

I spend an hour, at least, just getting the lay of it. The corridors here branch out like something biological. There are dozens of unused rooms, filled with dust and once-fine furnishings. There are also a ton of overgrown courtyards and small gardens. A few have been tended to recently: hedges trimmed, weeds pulled, soil tilled.

Everywhere I go, eyes follow me. They are subtle about it, but the weight of that many stares is hard to ignore, especially the more hostile ones. I wonder how many of them know who I am, or if their curiosity is for my novelty alone.

Eventually, I run out of space to explore and return to an ornate set of doors I spotted earlier. I figure there's a good chance I'll open them to find Solas. And sure enough, there he is. He's bent over a large table, long fingers trailing over something there. Sunlight streams through the windows and glints off of his armor. He glances up and my breath catches at the soft smile on his lips.

"I was told you had escaped your rooms," he says, amused. He straightens and approaches me as I shut the door.

Once again I find myself gawking at his hair. _Hair!_ It's reddish-brown and long, half up and braided in parts. When he's close enough, I reach up and run my fingers through a section, giving it a small tug. His eyelids flutter. "You have _hair_!" I point out stupidly.

Solas grins and flushes. "Yes, as you have pointed out many times already," he teases. "You seem quite fascinated with it. I am glad I decided to grow it out again."

I roll my eyes and blush a little myself. "But _how_ do you have hair? Last time I saw you, you were bald. How did you grow it out so fast?"

"Ah," he coughs. "I've had it for some time, actually."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"We met in dreams, _vhenan_. I appeared how I wanted to appear," he explains.

I snort inelegantly. "What, you didn't want me to know you had hair?"

He shrugs and looks away. "I… did not know how you would react." His eyes snap back to mine with a mischievous glint. "Had I known you would be so enthralled, I would have shown you sooner." I realize then that I'm twirling a strand of it between my fingers. I don't stop, though. It's really soft… "Besides," he continues, "I'm not the only one to grow my hair out." Now it's his turn to run his fingers through _my_ hair. I have it loose, for once, and it falls in waves across my shoulders.

"Yeah, well…" is all I manage to get out. I close my eyes and relish the sensation of Solas' deft fingers combing gently through my locks. After a moment, I open them again. Solas is watching me with hooded eyes and I surge forward, pressing my lips to his. We melt into one another, grasping frantically, as if a loose grip could send the other tumbling into the ether. Though we've met a few times in the Fade since my return to Thedas, this is different. Sharper. I feel touch-starved and Solas is my sustenance. Our kisses are desperate, hungry things, full of regret and anger and love and joy.

I pull away just long enough to push him down onto the table. Something falls on the floor but I really don't care. There's only Solas and this stupid armor I need to get him out of.

"Why are you even wearing armor right now?" I growl, tugging fruitlessly at it.

"I must always be prepared," he replies, sitting up and helping me remove pieces.

"Constant vigilance!" I cry, earning a strange look.

"... What?"

"Don't worry about it," I laugh. His top half free, I begin working on the rest but pause when I notice something. "Solas. Solas, there are faces on your knees."

He stops unbuckling and raises an eyebrow at me. "Yes…"

"Why?"

Solas rolls his eyes at me and chuckles, pulling me in for another kiss. "Ridiculous woman," he sighs into my mouth, reaching down to get a handful of my ass. I giggle and nip at his lower lip, eliciting a groan. "I have a bedroom," he pants.

"That's nice," I reply and kiss my way down his chest.

We don't make it to the bedroom until much later.

* * *

In the cold light of day, reality sets in.

I dress and reenter the main room where Solas is once again leaning over the table, this time sans armor. He wears something akin to his Inquisition-days garb, only nicer.

"Solas," I sigh, resigned. He glances up and I can tell he's thinking the same. "We need to talk."

"I know," he replies, turning to face me. He extends his hand and I reach out to clasp it. We sit down on a small sofa. "Can I convince you to stay?" he asks after a heavy silence.

"No." My eyes burn.

He nods once. "I know you have business to finish in Tevinter - business I cannot dissuade you from, no matter how much I desire to. But perhaps, after…"

"Solas…" I sigh once more, chest aching.

He turns suddenly, hands going to either side of my face. His eyes blaze into mine. "Please, let me at least explain. Maybe, if you knew the details…"

I frown. "You plan on taking down the Veil," I state plainly. "This will wreak havoc on Thedas, killing thousands upon thousands. Am I wrong?" He presses his lips tightly together and they go white with the pressure. He holds my gaze for a moment longer before dropping it and shaking his head. I feel tears well up and my words come out choked. "Then how can I condone it? Tell me, Solas. Give me one good reason!"

"Thedas used to be so much _more_ ," he whispers, then grasps both of my hands in his and looks pleadingly at me. "I wish you could have seen it. This world is but a shadow. It is diseased, dying. I _cannot_ stand idly by while it wastes away, especially not when it is _my fault_!" Tears spill down his cheeks.

My own tears falling now, I reach up and wipe his away. " _Ma vhenan…_ I can't even imagine how you must have felt, waking up to a world so different from the one you knew. But you, of all people, know how flawed it was. It was dry tinder and you were the spark. And while you slept, the world burned. Then you woke to this post-apocalyptic nightmare and were understandably horrified. But there's beauty still, Solas. I know you've seen it; the way life perseveres, like green things growing through rock. Life finds a way."

"Make no mistake," Solas interrupts. "Without interference, Thedas _will_ die."

"I know," I tell him. "But let's find a way to put out the fires, not start more of them."

" _How?"_ he asks and it's genuine. He's begging me for an alternative.

"I don't know," I admit with a sigh. "But I'm sure we can come up with something."

Solas pulls away with a frustrated noise and stands. "I cannot deal in uncertainties, Rhynn. My people are counting on me to fix this!"

I stand, too, angry now. " _Your people_ aren't more important than everyone else!"

"I did not say that," he grits through clenched teeth.

"It was heavily implied," I sneer.

Solas paces. "You tell me to stop, yet you have no alternative! You want to spare lives?" he demands, stopping in front of me and getting close.

"Yes!"

"You'll doom them all, in the end," he says with assurity. "You'll spare them some time, but they will _all_ perish eventually. What sort of solution is that? You _must_ look at the bigger picture, Rhynn."

I throw my hands up and groan, exasperated. "I'm not suggesting we just let the world die! But there's _got_ to be an alternative, Solas! Something other than genocide!"

"I understand your need to fix everything," he says quietly, dangerously, "but sometimes there is no ideal solution."

My brows pull together and up, sorrow etching itself into my bones. "You think I don't know that…?" Solas doesn't respond. I let out a shuddering breath and wipe away my own tears. "I can't just abandon them. Th-those are my friends, Solas. They're _yours_!"

"I know," he sighs, looking pained. "I know…"

"But I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"

A pause.

"No."

"Is this it, then?" I gasp. The dam is breaking; I can feel the cracks spreading.

There are cracks on Solas' face, too. Everything is falling apart. He doesn't answer; he doesn't need to.

I bow my head, give myself a moment to search for composure. Somehow, somewhere I find it and raise my head again. "Will you take me back to Tevinter now?"

"Yes," he replies and heads for the bedroom. Curious, I follow. I watch as he presses a glowing hand to a trunk in the corner. It clicks open and from it he pulls a very familiar case.

"My violin," I whisper.

"You should have it back," he says tonelessly and hands it to me. I hug it to my chest, feeling lost. Solas closes the lid to the trunk. He raises his hand and a rift crackles into existence. I stumble toward it on numb legs. I stop just shy and look up at 's a millennia in his eyes as he gazes back. He reaches up, then, and traces one of the scars on my face with a fingertip. "You shouldn't have to hide," he says quietly and lets his hand fall away.

In a daze, I step through the rift and into the cistern. The rift snaps closed behind me.

* * *

Notes: Trust me, okay?


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes:**

Previously:

Rhynn got the shit beat out of her by the reigning champion. Solas used his Fade powers to get to her and take her back to his secret lair. There, she was healed using ~*ancient elf magic*~ and allowed to explore. She and Solas made the beast with two backs then broke up like the dramatic hoes they are.

And now, on Healer...

* * *

Chapter 19: I'll stop the world and fight with you

I sit at a chair by the window in my room, idly plucking at the strings of my violin and gazing out on the grounds below. I'm not really focusing on any one thing; my thoughts are too cacophonous for that. Outwardly, I am calm. Inside, though, is turbulent.

 _It's over._

I pluck hard at the A string and it twangs harshly. My calm facade breaks for only a moment, a ripple in the pond.

 _Why am I even still here?_

I grit my teeth and grip the neck of my violin tighter. I know why I'm still here. I owe the people of Thedas. I'm partly to blame for their impending doom, afterall. And it _is_ impending. Because I've failed to convince Solas. If he is unwilling to work together, then I have to oppose him. And how can I hope to win against a more-or-less _god_.

I let out a sharp sigh and set my instrument aside. I sit forward and rest my head in my hands. Of course, that's the moment Fenris walks in.

"It is time," he announces without preamble, then hesitates. "Are you… okay?" He sounds so awkward it almost cheers me up.

I stand and brush my hands down my armored torso. The leather is cool beneath my touch. Reassuring. "I'm fine," I tell him and walk past. He doesn't look convinced, but thankfully lets it drop.

The trip to the arena passes too quickly. Before I know it, I'm waiting in the usual spot for my turn in the ring. Altan is waiting with me. He hasn't done that since the first time. I face away from him, toward the door that leads to the arena. I can hear him fidgeting behind me.

"Spit it out, Altan," I finally snap, eager to fight.

"Please be careful out there," he says in a small voice. I frown and glance at him over my shoulder. He sees the look on my face and rolls his eyes. "He nearly killed you last time, Rhynn. I have every right to be concerned."

I turn away and cross my arms. "Well, you can keep your concern. He's not going to win a second time."

Altan sighs loudly and shuffles around. "Rhynn…"

"Yes?"

He sighs again and reaches into his shirt to pull out that necklace he always wears. He holds it up for my inspection. It's actually a copper coin. An old one, judging by the tarnish on the metal and frayed state of the twine looped through it. "I never told you where I got this, did I?" he asks.

"No," I reply. "Why?"

"It was given to me by my dearest friend," he says, brimming with memories. "Talen. He was a slave, gifted to me by my teacher, Camuilla. He was…" Altan trails off with a chuckle and a shake of his head. "He was really bad at being a slave. I liked that about him. He was different from the others I'd dealt with. Different from everyone…" he sighs. "Spirited and opinionated, but also kind and well-meaning. He hated what he was. I'm ashamed to admit it took me a long time to understand why." He shakes his head again, slower, and his eyes are glassy. "This," he says forcefully, waving the copper piece at me, "was the only money he had to his name, and he gave it to me. _Me_ , who already had so much. He gave me this and the ribbon I use to tie back my hair. A-and… and then he disappeared." Altan sucks in a shaky breath. "I wear them to remind myself: _this_ ," he shakes the pendant again, "is what we're fighting for. What you're literally fighting for. People like Talen." He tucks the necklace back into his robes and looks me in the eyes. "I'm telling you this now because you should know there are only three people I've ever truly considered my friends. One of them is my sister, one is Talen… and the other is you."

I stare at Altan, dumbstruck. "Me?" I ask faintly.

"Yes. So please, Rhynn, _be careful_!" He lunges forward and clasps me in the stiffest hug I've ever received. I've barely managed to wrap my arms around him in return before he's pulling away. He nods awkwardly and practically flees the room.

An attendant steps in a second later. "You're up next," he says gruffly and opens the cage against the wall. In a daze, I step into it and wait.

"Keep it together," I mutter to myself as the wall in front of me lowers. Though my eyes are slow to adjust, my opponent is hard to miss. "Crooked Horn," I hiss under my breath when I spot him. The sight of him makes my blood boil. The qunari, aptly named, has one horn pointing up and the other down. This, along with his long, scraggly hair makes him look less than sane. Mostly, though, it's in his eyes. I got to see them up close and personal last time, when he was sliding a dagger between my ribs.

"... the moment you've all been waiting for. Our top two fighters, facing off once again," the announcer booms. "As you all know, Feral has held the position of Champion for the past few years." Raucous cheering. "In all that time, no one has managed to defeat him. Not even our favorite newcomer, Ree! Just a week ago, she faced off against Feral and received a thorough beating." The crowd boos. "Many of us thought that was it for The Bodyguard." My lip twitches at the nickname. _Does that make Altan my Whitney?_ "But here she is, back for more! Looks like someone can't get enough!" The crowd laughs and I curl my lip. _Sheep._ "Well, let's not keep them apart any longer!" A gong sounds and "Feral" and I start circling one another.

Feral may be what they call him, but it is not his name. Last time, after he'd battered and bruised every inch of me. After he'd broken bones and ruptured organs. After he'd kicked my ass all the way to Death's doorstep, he got in close and whispered to me. It's a moment I'm having trouble forgetting, no matter how hard I try. I see it when I close my eyes at night. As he pinned me to the arena wall and punctured my lung with his dagger, he said in a soft, deadly whisper, "Crooked Horn. You should know the name of the one who put you down." Just remembering it, I feel my side twinge, though I know I'm fully healed. Solas made sure of -

I shake my head, trying to dispel any thought of _him_. But it's like having a piece of popcorn kernel stuck between my teeth where I can't reach it. One thought in particular keeps circling: If Crooked Horn hadn't beaten the shit out of me, Solas wouldn't have felt the need to interfere and maybe… maybe we wouldn't have been forced to hash things out yet. Maybe, if I'd had just a bit more time, I could've come up with a way to convince him…

I unsheathe my daggers and Crooked Horn does the same. I glare at him, looking for a weakness. _Any_ weakness. It's difficult, to say the least. For one, he's got at least a foot on me, and more than a few pounds. Even so, he's not nearly as large as Iron Bull. Bull is on the larger end of the spectrum for his race, though, so perhaps that's not the best comparison. But it's not as if I know a lot of qunari.

Crooked Horn suddenly charges, jolting me out of my musings. I dodge to the side, just barely missing the tip of his dagger.

 _Pay attention, you fuck!_

I whirl on him and take a swipe of my own, but he's already moved away. I scowl, frustrated. The truth is, it's not Crooked Horn's size that makes him hard to fight. It's his style.

He fights like me.

I've fought plenty of rogue-types over the years, but never any of his caliber. Never of my _own_ caliber. He uses techniques I've taught myself over the years. Ones meant to play to my strengths: small, quick, agile. Which really just solidifies my theory that he's small for a qunari. I imagine he had to teach himself the same techniques to compensate.

"Pretty sure I have more experience, though," I grumble to myself. Then I dart forward as if to stab at him, pull back at the last second, drop to the ground, and sweep his legs out from under him. A cloud of dust billows outward when he lands hard on his back. I immediately seize the opportunity and roll over him, stabbing him in the stomach as I go. I use the momentum to push myself to my feet.

Crooked Horn lets out a howl of pain and I feel something cold slice into the meat of my calf. A second later, the pain hits, hot and pulsing. He's right behind me, already on his feet. I try to move away, but he grabs me, dagger going for my throat. Short on options, I grab the blade with my hand and it digs into my palm. I scream and let my head drop forward before whipping it back as hard as I can. It collides with a sickening crunch that could have come from his nose or my skull - or both.

He lets go and staggers back. I spin around, trying to slash at him, but my vision is blurry and I feel nauseous and dizzy. My blade catches his pectoral, though, and blood is gushing from what is obviously a broken nose. I grin viciously.

"Is that all you've got?" I mock. "I've taken down guys much bigger than you!" I think of the fade demon I slayed and my grin widens. _Much_ bigger.

If Crooked Horn was dazed before, he isn't now. His cold blue eyes bore into me. "What was that?" he growls, knuckles turning white around the hilts of his daggers.

 _Hm…_ I cock my head, studying him. _That hit a nerve._ Maybe if I goad him enough, he'll get sloppy.

"I'll admit, you took me by surprise last time. I don't often get to fight someone as skilled as you; I wasn't expecting it." As I talk, he stalks toward me and I step back, keeping the space between us. "That said, you no longer have me at a disadvantage." I feel my back hit the arena wall and it sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. I let him close the gap. "I think it's my turn to surprise you," I whisper, right before he lunges. I twist out of the way, executing a tight turn that puts me right behind him. I drive my dagger between his ribs and I grin. _See how you like it_.

My grin evaporates when a large, calloused hand clamps over mine, holding the dagger in place. Before I know it, Crooked Horn has spun us both around and slammed me against the wall with all his weight. I feel a rib crack as all the air in my lungs gets expelled. I slump, completely dazed. As I wheeze and clutch at my side, I notice Crooked Horn isn't breathing too well either.

Forgoing breathing for a second, I rush forward and land a punch to his solar plexus, well aware of the possible consequences. He stumbles backward and bends almost double as I move out of range.

"It took me a bit to realize," I wheeze, "but you and I share a very similar fighting style. I know why _I_ adopted it. I wonder if you had the same reasons. I imagine it must be difficult, being the smallest of your brethren. You had to _compensate_ ," I jeer, hoping for a reaction. If I can just distract him…

Crooked Horn lets out a terrifying roar and charges, head still down. _Oh shit!_ I don't even have time to dodge before one of those sharp horns is goring my midriff.

 _I've really got to stop getting hurt this way._..

I tumble to the ground and skid a feet from the sheer force. My qunari opponent stands there, panting and baring his teeth at me. Blood - _my blood_ \- drips from one of his horns; the one that points up. He looks insane, a second away from foaming at the mouth. I keep eye contact with him as I stand up, hand pressed to my newest wound. Unsurprisingly, only a trickle of blood oozes out. I pull my hand away and wipe it on my leg. Crooked Horn's eyes drop to my middle and widen, losing some of their wild light. He looks confused.

 _Good,_ I think with a weary grin. But then something occurs to me. A wound like this would have probably meant the end of the fight for anyone else. A chill runs down my spine when I notice the crowd has gone very quiet.

 _Maybe they haven't noticed…?_

 _Fuck._

Meanwhile, Crooked Horn has readjusted his grip on his daggers and is coming at me again.

 _Time to end this._

I rush to meet him. We clash, blade against blade, and the next few moments are a blur. I can feel the sting where his daggers cut my flesh, but they don't matter. All that matters now is ending this fight. I have confidence in my weird, self-preservatory powers. Ultimately, no matter how many times he cuts me, I can survive this. I doubt he can say the same.

Somewhere in the fracas, we both lose our weapons. It's _mano a mano_ now and time is slipping. There's just the thump of fists on flesh and the crack of bone. Everything else fades. We tumble and I throw him off. He doesn't move. I rise and kick him in the side. With the snap of a rib, the roar of the crowd returns. Crooked Horn howls with pain, but manages to stand. He charges, then stops cold. There is silence. I pull back my arm and punch him in the face. He reels back from the force of it and the crowd goes wild. With a growl, he pulls his leg up to kick at me, but never does. He freezes mid-kick, leg suspended in midair. Silence. I move around and push him. He falls and the people scream. I pin him in place like an entomologist with a butterfly, retrieve my dagger, and press my knee to his throat. The point of my dagger hovers above his eye. A hush falls over the crowd. _Will she kill him,_ they must wonder. I grin down at him, feral in my own right. _No._ I want him to know I've beaten him. I want him to _say_ it. I let him regain awareness.

"Do you yield?" I hiss.

His eyes, full of fear now, flick between the point of the blade and me. He looks absolutely _terrified_ and something in me purrs with satisfaction.

"Do you yield?" I say again, more of a growl this time.

"Y-yes," he croaks.

My nostrils flare in triumph. I move the dagger away from his eye and lean in to whisper, "Rhynn Torpin. You should know the name of the woman who defeated you." He just blinks up at me, shocked, so I stand. He sits up, clutching his side. I can see blood leaking from between his fingers and it brings me back to myself. Slowly, I become aware of what's happening outside the arena. There's shouting and stomping and clanging. I look around.

A lot of people are watching me. Some are yelling. "What was that?" "She cheated!" "What kind of magic is this?!" Others are fleeing toward the nearest exit.

It hits me like a ton of bricks. The intermittent silences I heard, Crooked Horn freezing mid-strike…

 _Oh God, what have I done?_

Panic steals my breath. I frantically look for Altan in his usual spot. He's gone.

"Fuck," I whisper. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

I blew my cover.

I take a shaky step back, eyes darting here and there. They land on Crooked Horn, who's still staring. He coughs and a bit of blood trickles out of his mouth.

"Oh, fuck…" I take another step back.

"Seize her!" someone shouts and my heart skips a beat.

Crooked Horn and I have locked eyes. He no longer seems like much of a threat. The wild glint is gone.

 _Make this right,_ a voice whispers. _Use this._

My lids fall like shutters and I breathe. When I open them again, the world is still and quiet. I move. Where I step, the dust rises and doesn't fall. I kneel beside the battered and bruised qunari. He stares toward where I was, unseeing. I reach out and gently wipe the blood from his chin. His gaze flicks to where I am now and he flinches back, letting out a small whimper of fear. I hesitate, frowning. What must this look like from the outside, to terrify someone like Crooked Horn? To him, it must look as if I suddenly appeared at his side. I think that would scare me, too.

When touch him again, it's on his shoulder, and I'm already making shushing sounds.

"It's okay," I say softly. "I won't hurt you anymore."

He looks down at where my hand clasps his shoulder, breathing erratic.

"I have to make contact to… unfreeze you," I explain lamely. His brows draw together in confusion. I raise mine and jerk my head toward the crowd. He looks past me and his eyes widen further.

"H-h-hh…." he tries, but can't quite seem to get the words out. Under my hand he's shaking. He starts to hyperventilate.

"Crooked Horn," I say with gentle command. "Look at me." He does. "Do you want to leave this place?" I ask.

"Wh-what?" he stutters.

"I'm going to leave now. You can come with me, if you want. You don't have to fight anymore."

Crooked Horn gapes at me and doesn't speak. The base of my skull starts to ache.

"I can't keep this up forever," I tell him. "I need an answer."

He searches my face, probably for signs of deceit. When he finds none, he nods. "Yes."

"Let's go, then." Hastily, I slip an arm around his back to help him up. Together, we hobble out of the arena.


End file.
